Opinions
Open primaries, ranked choice voting support better democracy
Under status quo, D.C. primaries are closed to 86,000 independents

By LISA D.T. RICE
Change is difficult for humans to embrace. I know it. You know it. We like our routines and hold onto them for dear life, often to our detriment, robbing ourselves of the opportunity to evolve and grow, break the mold and truly make a difference.
Change may be hard for Washington, D.C.’s politicos, too – as Peter Rosenstein demonstrates in his recent opinion piece in the Blade. Yet, open primaries and ranked choice voting – the two electoral reforms proposed in the Make All Votes Count Act of 2024, also known as Ballot Initiative 83 – will help our city’s democracy evolve, grow, and improve. They will help us live up to our democratic ideals: more voters’ voices heard, more true choice for voters and politicians who work harder for all of us and are truly accountable to We the People.
We can do better than the status quo that Rosenstein seems to celebrate in his piece. One in every six D.C. voters is a registered independent. That includes me. Yet, under the status quo, our party primaries – which are taxpayer-funded – are closed to these 86,000 voters. Of course, in a nearly one-party city like D.C., the Democratic primary is the most important election.
Our constitutional right to vote should not – and does not – require subscribing to a political party. Yet, registered independents are denied that right in this all-important contest – even though we pay for it with our tax dollars. It doesn’t have to be this way; a majority of states already allow independents to vote in party primaries.
Our closed primaries also discourage change-agent candidates who might appeal to those 86,000 voters. Meanwhile, our single-choice elections discourage first-time and diverse candidates who fear they might “split the vote” or are told to “wait their turn.” Our single-choice elections also mean that candidates can be nearly guaranteed election even if they barely eke out a narrow slice of the Democratic primary vote (sometimes as low as 20 or 25 percent).
With our current election rules closing off real voice and opportunity for many, party bosses end up dictating both the party platform and the policies that come out of the Wilson Building.
There’s one thing our current system is very good at: preserving the status quo. In D.C.’s 2022 elections, only one incumbent lost their attempt for re-election (to another incumbent — a Democrat turned independent — seeking a new seat). All the others won.
Yet, there’s a reason that the electoral reform movement is gaining momentum here and elsewhere: survey after survey shows we are not happy with the status quo. According to a Pew Research Center survey, 62 percent of Americans are not satisfied with how democracy is working in the U.S.
If we want to change the results, we need to change the system. If you want democracy to work better for you, then support for open primaries and ranked choice voting is obvious.
Open primaries in D.C. would empower all registered voters, including independents, to fully participate in our taxpayer-funded primary elections. We must have that right. Voter suppression in D.C. must end.
Meanwhile, ranked choice voting empowers voters, provides more genuine choice in elections, and results in more representative outcomes. Candidates must appeal to a broader audience, winning a minimum of 50 percent of the vote. In our current system, a candidate needs only a plurality in both the primary and general elections to prevail.
Our politicians should work harder for all of our votes. Ranked choice voting is one of the tools to make that happen. (In his piece, Rosenstein questions whether politicians will actually work harder with ranked choice voting. It’s a simple math problem – you have to work harder to win over 51 percent of voters than to win over just 20 or 25 percent.)
Currently 51 cities, counties, and states use ranked choice voting –in primaries, caucuses, and general elections. Since 2005, there have been more than 650 elections using ranked choice voting. Naysayers try to claim that ranked choice voting is too complicated for us. Far from it.
We rank things in our everyday lives – it’s unsurprising that, across those 650-plus elections, voter understanding and satisfaction is high. Cities across the country have elected historically diverse representatives using ranked choice voting, including the first majority-LGBTQ+ city council in Salt Lake City, Utah; a majority-women city council in New York City; and the first majority-people of color council in Minneapolis. In D.C., election reform can help usher more new and diverse voices into office.
One last point: ranked choice voting is sometimes referred to as instant runoff voting. But unlike traditional runoffs, it happens all at once and it doesn’t cost more money or voter time. Runoffs also tend to have a dramatic drop in turnout from regular primaries and general elections. Why should the District of Columbia spend money on inefficient, low-turnout runoffs? Why not spend it on helping our homeless population, investing in public health or improving our schools? That seems a better use of taxpayer funding than helping ensure the status quo in our politics.
Lisa D. T. Rice, a native Washingtonian, is an ANC Commissioner representing single member district 7B07, which includes residents of the Penn Branch, Dupont Park, and Fort Davis neighborhoods. She is a registered Independent and the proposer of the MAKE ALL VOTES COUNT ACT OF 2024.
Opinions
The power of queer community: When aid is cut, we don’t disappear. We organize
US funding withdrawal has had global impact

The global LGBTIQ+ movement is being systematically undermined, not just by eroding legal protections and escalating political harassment, but by the sudden withdrawal of vital funding. What began in the U.S. as a flurry of policy changes under Donald Trump has become a global flood of cuts, bans, and deliberate dehumanization. This week in Nairobi, prominent ultra-conservative campaigners from around the world, who are against abortion, transgender and LGBTIQ+ rights, and sexuality education, are speaking at the Pan-African Conference on Family Values.
Grassroots organizations, which are the backbone of queer survival and resistance around the world, are struggling to stay afloat. The global funding squeeze will and has already started to directly impact frontline organizations, forcing them to scale back, shut down programs, or close entirely.
In South Africa, support groups have slashed services due to the sudden disappearance of U.S. aid. In Mali, new laws criminalize LGBTIQ+ identities altogether. These regressions are not organic, they are engineered as American evangelicals continue to export anti-LGBTIQ+ ideologies across Africa.
In Europe, trans rights are being rolled back under the guise of biological essentialism, most recently validated by the U.K. Supreme Court’s ruling to exclude trans women from the legal definition of “woman.” In Hungary, LGBTIQ+ events have been constitutionally banned.
In the U.S., Trump is once again weaponizing his platform to push bans on gender-affirming care for minors and cut LGBTIQ+ research funding, all under the banner of “protecting children.” Elon Musk, once a corporate ally for LGBTIQ+ rights, now echoes far-right voices and launches transphobic tirades in tandem with personal attacks against his own daughter.
This is a coordinated, well-funded, and transnational anti-rights campaign to strip queer people of rights, dignity, and resources. At Hivos, we see this backlash as a call to deepen our commitment to centering queer voices, challenging harmful narratives with data and lived experiences, and working to strengthen the LGBTIQ+ movement globally.
We cannot fight this movement with performative IDAHOBIT posts on social media alone. We need action, international solidarity, and a recommitment to protecting queer lives.
What’s at stake?
This isn’t about identity politics. It’s about survival.
When the USAID funding freeze came into effect in early 2025, the Hivos-led EU SEE network conducted a survey on the impact of the freeze on civil society organizations around the world. Most surveyed organizations are reducing staff, scaling down programs, or reallocating budgets.
Outright International found that over 120 grants to LGBTIQ+ organizations in 42 countries were suspended following U.S. aid freezes with devastating consequences: lost access to trauma care for survivors of gender-based violence, the dismantling of HIV prevention networks, and increased discrimination, arrests, and violence.
Grassroots mutual aid groups in East Africa, working with minimal resources, have pioneered radical community models by providing housing, legal aid, and emergency support in the absence of government protection. These groups don’t just serve communities; they are the communities. Their defunding is not only cruel; it is a death sentence for countless individuals.
Economic justice and LGBTIQ+ liberation
Justice isn’t just legal, it’s economic. In most contemporary societies, justice is also closely tied to economic power. Around the world, LGBTIQ+ people face disproportionate levels of poverty, unemployment, housing insecurity, and workplace discrimination. Economic inclusion shouldn’t be an afterthought to queer rights around the world – it is foundational to their survival and dignity.
And yet, reports from Outright International, the Williams Institute, and the World Bank affirm that LGBTIQ+ economic inclusion benefits society as a whole. When the queer community is excluded, the human and financial costs are steep. The economic marginalization of LGBTIQ+ people lowers GDP, deepens inequality, and entrenches cycles of sexual and gender-based violence. So we also need systemic change that includes LGBTIQ+ people in broader economic opportunities — from education to employment and entrepreneurship opportunities.
There are strategies to bring LGBTIQ+ inclusion to the forefront. At Hivos, through the Free to be Me program, we have seen successes in LGBTIQ+ economic inclusion from the establishment of the Queer and Allied Chamber of Commerce of Africa to our partners in the Philippines successfully supporting the Lapu-Lapu city council’s Anti-Discrimination Ordinance. Positive developments like these are just one part of creating safer social, political, and legal environments allowing LGBTIQ+ people to have equal access to resources, opportunities, and decision-making.
What do we do now?
If governments won’t lead, then LGBTIQ+ communities and our allies must.
- Philanthropic foundations must step up. Some foundations have pledged to increase support, but the momentum pales in comparison to the urgency. Funding must be flexible, long-term, and led by community input.
- Media and influential individuals must confront hate speech head-on. Political leaders like Donald Trump aren’t “debating” gender identity — they’re inciting division and violence. Do not let bigotry define the narrative. Bigotry is not a “debate” its incitement
- Corporations must put money where their rainbows are. Pride-themed products without meaningful reinvestment into queer causes are nothing more than branding and pinkwashing. Corporations must ensure LGBTIQ+ employees are supported and protected.
- Solidarity demands more than words, donating directly to grassroots organizations and mutual aid funds. Speak up. Pressure local leaders. Boycott non-inclusive organizations and corporations. Demand change.
- Bring LGBTIQ+ voices into policymaking spaces. When the LGBTIQ+ community participates in the legislative process — and when advocates and organizations receive the funding they need to support long-term, transformative impact — the potential for positive change and inclusivity is endless.
Continuing the fight from previous generations
Queer communities have always faced adversity with grit, love, and radical imagination. But resilience is not infinite. Without funding, protection, and political will, resilience can end up in burnout.
Let’s do more than celebrate the queer community — let’s mobilize. We can take inspiration from the 2024 protests in Peru against a law classifying transgender people and other LGBTIQ+ people as mentally ill, which succeeded in getting the law scrapped within a month. The future of LGBTIQ+ rights will not be decided in courtrooms or campaign rallies alone. It will also depend on whether we show up right now, with our money, our voices, and our actions. Because when aid is cut, we don’t disappear. We organize.
Susan Githaiga is a Pan-African, feminist and human rights defender grounded in the belief that none of us are free until all of us are free as inspired by Lilla Watson and collective Black feminist thought. As the Global Program Manager of Free to Be Me Hivos, she leads a transformative initiative across 12 countries in Africa, MENA, and Southeast Asia, partnering with over 160 LGBTIQ+ CSOs and movements to advance human and economic rights and resilience. A strategist, bridge-builder and movement weaver, Susan thrives at the intersection of advocacy and grassroots power.

Opinions
My chance encounter with a pope and why goodness still matters
Early morning Vatican stroll turns into unforgettable memory

It’s not every day you meet a pope. Mine was Pope John Paul. In the recent passing of Pope Francis, and all the love and generosity of this ”People’s Pope,” I was reminded of a similar man, with a similar heart, who I had the fortune to one day meet.
There’s no real yardstick for measuring a man who’s the head of an institution that has been around since the Romans, who commands the respect of more than a billion people, and whose job it is to keep alive a 2,000-year-old message of love, hope, generosity, and salvation.
I wasn’t planning on meeting him. More like it was fated, or I’d like to believe that.
I was on a spiritual journey of my own. My schoolwork was over in Norway, and I was headed to Lebanon to write about the war there. I was a young man of 17, trying to figure out the world and how it worked — or didn’t.
It was a week before Easter when I found myself in Rome, standing at the far edge of St. Peter’s Square. As I remember, it was very early and a very beautiful morning, sometime around six or so. Even at that age, I found great solace in the solitude of the early morning. It’s as if I had the entire Square to myself, reflecting on this singular moment in time that I was alone in one of the greatest places of spiritual gathering in the world.
But I wasn’t alone. Next to the fountain where I had parked my backpack laid a man, curled up next to the stone wall, in the gentle universal snore of inebriation. I quietly cupped some water to wash my face and neck, which apparently was enough to stir the man from his sleep.
I nodded my head at him, smiled, and gave a short wave in the universal sign that we were all good and passing fellows. He groggily waved back. I was about to gather up my rucksack and head out when I saw a man strolling across the far side of the Square, about 100 yards away He was in no hurry, which intrigued me. Another soul in search of morning quietude, I thought to myself. He sauntered along, thoroughly enjoying the morning air, occasionally looking up at the sky, which was equally as intriguing.
He was a happy man who was happy to be alive. I thought it was remarkable that on that morning, there were two happy people in the world, and they were both in St. Peter’s Square.
As if a bee to a flower, the man took a direction to a small group of people, three or four more souls walking together who stopped as the man approached them. I saw one of them reach out for the man’s hand and then he kissed it. Now my curiosity turned to wonderment, trying to understand what was taking place.
My Roman fountain friend began a slow drunken babble to me as he gestured toward the small cluster that I was evidently staring at. His Italian was as good as my English, and that was the end of it. Though he continued to say, “Papa, Papa.” I queried him back, having no clue what his Papa was. Then he sat up as if to collect every ounce of clarity that still inhabited him and said, “Pope-a.” I pointed to the group. “The Pope?” He nodded his head and said, “Si. Il Pope-a” (which I later understood was a combination of the affectionate and respectful use of Papa for the Pope, combined with our English version — thus, “Pope-a”).
He smiled. I smiled. The apostle of the fountain had conveyed his message, and I was on my way to meet the pope.
Quickly, I made my way to the small gathering. I was a little unsure of how to add myself to the procession, as small as it was. My mind started to whirl with pope-laden imaginings. Would he be talking in Latin? Wearing silk robes? Would he be holding some relic of St. Peter’s golden staff?
I then slowed my walk, brought myself to the edge of the group, and there he was — the pope, John Paul himself. He was smaller than I had imagined. No staff or silk robes. He was chatting up the small group as if they were neighbors meeting in the middle of the sidewalk, exchanging news of the neighborhood or the latest sport’s scores, all in a breezy mixture of Italian and English.
He then spotted me and waved me over. I froze for a moment. With no time to study the Pope Manual of Papal Etiquettecy, I had no clue if I should kiss the ring or the hand, or shake it, or what? Not being Catholic, I was not versed on how to properly greet a pope.
I then did what any non-Catholic American 17-year-old kid on a spiritual journey would do: I combined a handshake with a nod/kiss on the hand and the biggest kid-smile I could muster. He smiled back, with the understanding of what it was to be a pope and meet a kid like me both in awe and in happiness at being together there on the Sunday morning in St. Peter’s Square.
He asked me a few questions for which I have no memory of my answers. It didn’t matter. I was talking with the pope.
There was no Instagram, or Facebook, or selfie-taking back then. Everyone somehow understood that this was a moment you stored in your mind and in your heart. To take pictures would have somehow sullied it, and everyone knew it.
John Paul was a man on a morning stroll, who shared his intimate time with a group of fellow morning seekers. He was warm, kind, and cordial — a prince of a fellow in my book. The type of man you could talk to in a bar, or on a train, or on a park bench. He practiced the generosity that is the best of the human spirit — to give without expecting anything in return. A gift of love that needs no bartering or transaction to fulfill it.
Lately, and with the recent passing of Pope Francis, I thought I needed to commemorate this memory of this day on paper. Watching how generous Pope Francis was with his love, to the children, to the sick and poor, to the downtrodden, to those who are so easily trampled over in the modern day haste to make civilization “better” and “faster,” it was no stretch to remember another man who so equally and mightily gave his heart and soul to others.
In a world where so many are seemingly trying to figure out who to hate and how to hate them, I find great solace in knowing that there are those who understand that the better angels of our nature are to be better.
On a beautiful Sunday morning, in the small tide of the oceans of history, I met with a man who helped me to remember once again that the Golden Rule is golden because it shines with goodness, grace, and generosity, and that is no small endeavor for all of us to journey toward in all of our lives.
Carew Papritz is the award-winning author of ‘The Legacy Letters’ who inspires kids to read through his ‘I Love to Read’ and ‘First-Ever Book Signing’ YouTube series.
Commentary
‘A New Alliance for a New Millenium, 2003-2020’
Revisiting the history of gay Pride in Washington

In conjunction with WorldPride 2025, the Rainbow History Project is creating an exhibit on the evolution of Pride: “Pickets, Protests, and Parades: The History of Gay Pride in Washington.” It will be on Freedom Plaza from May 17-July 7. This is the ninth in a series of 10 articles that share the research themes and invite public participation. In “A New Alliance for a New Millenium” we discuss how Whitman-Walker’s stewardship of Pride led to the creation of the Capital Pride Alliance and how the 1960s demands of the Mattachine Society of Washington were seen as major victories under the Obama administration.
This section of the exhibit explores how the Whitman-Walker Clinic, a cornerstone of the community since the 1970s, stepped up to rescue Pride from a serious financial crisis. The Clinic not only stabilized Pride but also helped it expand, guiding the festival through its 30th anniversary and cementing its role as a unifying force for the city’s LGBTQ population. As Whitman-Walker shifted its focus to primary healthcare, rebranding as Whitman-Walker Health, a new era began with the formation of the Capital Pride Alliance (CPA). Born from the volunteers and community partners who had kept Pride going, CPA took the reins and transformed Capital Pride into one of the largest free LGBTQ festivals in the country. Under CPA’s stewardship, the festival grew to attract hundreds of thousands, with multi-day celebrations, headline performers, and a vibrant parade.
This period saw Pride become a true cross-section of the community, as former Capital Pride Alliance executive director Dyana Mason recalled: “It was wonderfully diverse and had a true cross section of our community… Everybody was there and just being themselves.” The festival’s expansion created space for more people to find a sense of belonging and affirmation. This growth was made possible through the support of sponsors, volunteers, and a city eager to celebrate-but it also sparked ongoing debates about the role of corporate funding and the meaning of Pride in a changing world.
National politics are woven throughout this era. In a powerful moment of recognition, Frank Kameny — the architect of D.C.’s first White House picket for gay rights and a founder of the Mattachine Society — was invited to the White House in 2009. There, President Obama and the U.S. government formally apologized for Kameny’s firing from federal service in 1957, a symbolic act that echoed the earliest demands of DC’s own Mattachine Society, the city’s first gay civil rights organization founded in 1961. The 2009 National Equality March revived the spirit of earlier mass mobilizations, linking LGBTQ rights to broader movements for social justice. The 2010s brought landmark victories: “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” was repealed, marriage equality became law. These wins suggested decades of protest had borne fruit, yet new generations continued to debate the meaning of true liberation and inclusion.
Our exhibit examines how the political edge of Pride has softened as the event has grown. As the festival expanded in scale and visibility, the focus on protest and activism has sometimes faded into the background, even as new challenges and divisions have emerged. Some voices have called for a return to Pride’s more radical roots. The 2017 Equality March for Unity and Pride drew 80,000 people to D.C., centering intersectional struggles — police violence, immigrant rights, trans inclusion — and exposing the widening rift between mainstream LGBTQ progress and the lived realities of the most vulnerable. The question remains: Are LGBTQ officers marching in uniform a sign of progress or a painful reminder of Pride’s roots in resistance to state violence? During Capital Pride 2017, activists blocked the parade, targeting floats sponsored by corporations linked to weapons manufacturing, pipeline financing, and other forms of oppression.
As we prepare for WorldPride and the anniversaries of D.C.’s first Gay Pride Day Block Party and the White House picket, the Rainbow History Project invites you to experience this living history at Freedom Plaza. Through archival images and the voices of organizers and participants, you’ll discover how Pride in DC has been shaped by resilience, reinvention, and the ongoing struggle to ensure every voice is heard.
Zoey O’Donnell is a member of the Rainbow History Project. Vincent Slatt is RHP’s senior curator.
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