District of Columbia
Recovery at the Triangle Club
Coming together as a group to fight a common addiction
On Sunday, between the Dupont Italian Kitchen, where the tables are filled with the boozy brunches of the kickball gays, and Mikko, where a young couple is celebrating their anniversary with some Champagne, the door to a row-house opens, and all at once, a crowd pours forth onto the stairs. Only the stairs keep on filling. These folks aren’t leaving. They’ve only left the building to come to the stairs, just to chat. It’s as though 100 people all decided to go for a smoke out front, all at the same time. But if you ask them why they’re there, you’ll get only the vaguest of answers. “We’re just coming from a meeting,” one will say. “It’s a clubhouse,” says another.
There are good reasons for this vagueness. The Triangle Club is a center for queer folk to attend recovery meetings: Overeaters Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, Crystal Meth Anonymous, Sexual Compulsives Anonymous. It’s part of the very mission of these groups to protect the privacy of their members. But these groups also want those in the queer community who need the support to know that they’re there. And so the folks at the Triangle Club were kind enough to welcome the Blade into their space for a few meetings, to see how things worked and shed some light on what they’re all about.
The Club had its kickoff meeting in 1988, during the AIDS crisis. Churches weren’t particularly enthusiastic about hosting gay recovery meetings in their back rooms. And so the Club sought to provide a safe place for those meetings to take place. At the time of the club’s founding, it was estimated that gays and lesbians were twice as likely to report problems with alcohol abuse than heterosexuals. One would hope that things might have changed in the intervening years. But according to a government report released this summer, that figure has barely improved. (The government report did not collect any statistics on transgender people.)
Of course there is no single reason queer people develop problems with drugs and alcohol. But one in particular struck me, especially as a reason I heard coming from a lot of the younger folk at the Triangle Club. “I thought meth was a prerequisite for going out,” said one. “I thought that’s what you did.” Another said, “I drank to find community. And then I drank to numb myself when I didn’t find it in the gay community.” Again and again, I heard stories about turning to drugs and alcohol as a way of finding connection, and as a way of coping with the failure to find connection.
And so while I heard a lot of gratitude for the role the meetings at the Triangle Club played in people’s recovery, I also heard a lot of gratitude for the community of the Triangle Club itself. It wasn’t just that the Club helped people turn away from an unhealthy way of solving their problems. It’s that it gave them what they were really looking for in the first place: a community they could call their own.
Improbably, as I left a meeting of Crystal Meth Anonymous, I found myself wishing to be an addict in recovery. To have a place to share things that would go unsaid among friends and family, let alone therapists. To take part, week after week, in one another’s mission for a more fulfilling life. To be present for the absolute raucousness, as when one gentleman described living on meth as “wearing a fur coat into a swimming pool,” and then “turning the wave-machine on.” To hear the applause that only someone four days sober could receive. But what kind of destructive, life-threatening wish was I making? I couldn’t possibly be serious.
Many of us in the queer community are exhausted by drinking, if not drugging, our way into it. That exhaustion might not rise to the level of addiction, but this has the perverse consequence of not driving us to seek alternative forms of belonging. One of the men I interviewed kept talking of the “sober community,” and my ears perked up. Perhaps there was a broader community of folks, of which those in recovery were only a part, that wasn’t centered around substance use.
“The sober community absolutely extends beyond the Triangle Club,” he told me. “There are a bunch of other gay meetings that go on.” This wasn’t exactly what I hoped to hear. What a sorry state we’re in, I couldn’t help but feel that to be part of the sober community was to be in recovery. As though the community of substance use were so mandatory that it had to drive you to your own personal edge in order for you to find community in sobriety.
The Triangle Club should not be overly romanticized, and they’d be the first to tell you. People talked of trying to find fellowship at the club in the past, and not necessarily succeeding. Being one of two Black people in the room, only for the other to drop out of the program. Or of the demands of service, dragging yourself out late Friday night to chair a meeting, or sponsoring someone for the first time and being scared that you aren’t the right one to advise them. But I think it’s a testament to the space that these things could be said in the space. The meetings aren’t a place of mandatory optimism, but honest experience. And what good is a meeting for sharing honest experience if you can’t share your negative experiences too?
I had hoped, as part of this feature, to attend a meeting of Sexual Compulsives Anonymous. The two meetings I appealed to were kind enough to hold a vote on whether they would open their doors—but in the end they opted to remain private. One gentleman from the meetings volunteered to share a little of what these meetings were all about. Recovery meetings in general depend on coming together as a group to fight a common addiction. But “S” meetings, as the gentleman described them, can’t take “coming together” lightly, nor a “common addiction” lightly.
To begin with, sexual addiction is not as straightforwardly defined as addiction to drugs or alcohol. What sobriety is for one person is not what sobriety is for another. One person might be trying to curtail a masturbation habit. But for others? “That simply isn’t an option,” the gentleman said. And unlike recovery meetings for substances, which can ban substances from the room, the same can’t as easily be said for “S” meetings. We’re sexual beings, and so inevitably, to bring yourself into a room is to bring sexuality along with it. The recovery meetings at the Triangle Club usually end with the group joining hands to say the serenity prayer. But this can’t be a given at “S” meetings, where joining hands might be violating someone’s boundary.
With the pandemic waning, most recovery meetings have slowly started to transition away from video format back to in-person. But “S” meetings have been more reluctant to do so, and most have stuck with a hybrid format. One veteran of Al-Anon voiced his relief at coming back to the rooms. “You can’t hug a square!” I suspect that’s the very reason “S” meetings have been slow to return.
Part of my disappointment in not attending the “S” meetings was how central they seemed to be to a queer recovery organization. Substance abuse might disproportionately affect the queer community, but it is the addicts who are queer, not the addictions. If the addiction is to love or sex, however, the addiction itself is inextricably queer. Aren’t the “S” meetings the heart, in a sense, of the Triangle Club? But a conversation with a gentleman from Alcoholics Anonymous had me rethinking this. “[Accepting you’re an alcoholic,] it’s similar to coming out as gay,” he said. “There are people out there who view it as a moral failing, but it’s just part of who I am.”
The experience of coming out is so central to being queer. How could coming out as an addict have nothing whatsoever to do with it? The same story of a newfound, authentic life was as common to the folks at the Triangle Club as it would be to anyone who comes out as queer.
(CJ Higgins is a postdoctoral fellow with the Alexander Grass Humanities Institute at Johns Hopkins University.)
District of Columbia
Community mourns passing of D.C. trans rights advocate SaVanna Wanzer
Acclaimed activist credited with founding D.C. Trans Pride
Three D.C.-based LGBTQ advocacy organizations released statements on April 24 announcing that highly acclaimed D.C. transgender rights advocate SaVanna Wanzer has passed away.
Although the statements by the Human Rights Campaign, the Center For Black Equity, and Capital Pride Alliance did not disclose the date of her passing, the cause of death or her age, they recounted Wanzer’s extensive LGBTQ advocacy work over the past 20 years or longer.
Among other things, the groups noted she is credited with being the lead founder of the D.C. Trans Pride and D.C. Black Trans Pride celebrations and events.
“As a trailblazing transgender activist, educator, and founder of D.C. Trans Pride, D.C. Black Trans Pride, and May Is All About Trans, SaVanna created and led transformative transgender programming during D.C. Black Pride that ensured trans voices, stories, leadership, and lived experiences were centered, celebrated, and protected,” according to the statement from the Center for Black Equity, an LGBTQ organization.
“Her work was not just about representation, it was about liberation, community, and making sure Black Trans lives were honored in rooms, stages, policies, and movements that too often overlooked them,” the statement says.
In its own statement, the Human Rights Campaign, the nation’s largest LGBTQ advocacy organization, called Wanzer an icon of D.C.’s Black trans community and longtime leader in many LGBTQ organizations.
“SaVanna Wanzer was a D.C. legend,” Laurel Powell, HRC’s Director of Communications, said in the statement. “She advocated for many years for the trans community and for people living with HIV, and served with many organizations, including D.C. Black Pride, Capital Pride, and NMAC [National Minority AIDS Council],” the statement adds.
“I can say firsthand that SaVanna will not just be missed for her work, but for her sisterly wisdom and her sense of humor,” Powell said in the HRC statement.
In its own statement, Capital Pride Alliance, which organizes D.C.’s annual LGBTQ Pride events, called Wanzer a “trailblazer” in her role as founder of Capital Trans Pride, D.C. Black Trans Pride, and the May Is All About Trans events. It says she served on the Capital Pride Board of Directors
“SaVanna was not just an advocate and community organizer but also a knowledge holder and elder voice in our movement,” the statement adds
In an undated statement on its website released before Wanzer’s passing, the D.C. group Food and Friends, which provides home-delivered meals to people in need, including people with HIV and cancer, says Wanzer had been one of its clients in the past. It says she had been living with heart problems since she was 16 and learned she had HIV in 1985 when she went to donate blood while working at the time for the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. It also says she had diabetes, which was under control.
Among her many involvements, Wanzer also served as a volunteer for D.C.’s Whitman-Walker Health, which provides medical services for the LGBTQ community along with other communities. In 2015, Whitman-Walker selected Wanzer as the first recipient of its Robert Fenner Urquhart Award for her volunteer services at Whitman-Walker for more than 20 years.
The Center for Black Equity appeared to capture the sentiment of those in the LGBTQ community who knew Wanzer in the concluding part of its statement on her passing.
“Her vision continues to guide us,” it says. “Her courage continues to inspire us. Her impact will continue to live through every person, every Pride, and every space made more possible because she dared to lead,” it says. “Rest in power, SaVanna Wanzer. Your light remains with us.”
District of Columbia
Second trans member announces plans to resign from Capital Pride board
Zion Peters cites ‘lack of interest in the Black trans community’
Zion Peters, a member of the Capital Pride Alliance Board of Directors who identifies as transgender, told the Washington Blade he plans to resign from the board “due to the lack of interest in the trans community, specifically the Black trans community.”
Peters continued, “Nobody has checked on me in the last two months so that shows their level of unprofessionalism towards their board members and the community as a whole.”
If he resigns, Peters would be the second known trans person to resign from the Capital Pride board since February, when longtime trans activist Taylor Lianne Chandler informed the board of her resignation in a detailed letter that was sent to the Blade by an anonymous source.
Chandler, who served as chair of the Capital Pride Transgender, Gender Non-Conforming, and Intersex Committee, stated in her Feb. 24 letter that she resigned from the board out of frustration that the board had failed to address instances of “sexual misconduct” within the Capital Pride organization. The organization’s and the board’s transgender-related policies were not cited in her letter as a reason for her resignation.
The Blade learned of Peters’s plans to resign from an anonymous source who thought Peters had already resigned along with four other board members identified by the anonymous source. The others, who Capital Pride confirmed this week had resigned, include Anthony Musa, Bob Gilchrist, Kaniya Walker, and Dai Nguyen.
Musa and Gilchrist told the Blade they resigned for personal reasons related to their jobs and that they fully support Capital Pride’s work as an organization that coordinates the city’s annual LGBTQ Pride events.
The Blade has been unable to reach Walker and Nguyen to determine their reasons for resigning.
Capital Pride CEO Ryan Bos and Board Chair Anna Jinkerson didn’t respond to a Blade question asking if they knew why Walker or Nguyen resigned.
In response to a request by the Blade for comment on the resignations and the concern raised by Zion Peters about trans-related issues, Bos and Jinkerson sent separate statements elaborating on the organization and the board’s position on various issues.
“We can confirm that the individuals you referenced, except for Zion, no longer serve on the Capital Pride Alliance Board of Directors,” Jinkerson said in her statement.
She added that following the WorldPride festival hosted by D.C. last May and June that was organized by Capital Pride Alliance, the group anticipated a “significant level of board transition,” with many board members reaching the end of their terms. But she said many board members chose to extend their service or apply for an additional term, showing a “powerful reflection of commitment.”
Without commenting on the specific reasons for the resignations of Peterson, Walker, and Nygun, Jinkerson noted, “As with all volunteer leadership roles, transitions occur for a range of personal and professional reasons, and we appreciate those transitions with both understanding and gratitude.”
In his own statement, Bos addressed Capital Pride’s record on transgender issues.
“The Capital Pride Alliance is committed to supporting and uplifting the Trans community through our work with the Trans Coalition under the Diversity of Prides Initiative, our partnership with Earline Budd on the LGBTQ+ Burial Fund with a focus on our Trans siblings, our collaboration with the National Trans Visibility March, and our ongoing investment in programming for Transgender Day of Visibility and Transgender Day of Remembrance,” Bos said in his statement.
“We also recognize there is always continued work to be done, and we always welcome feedback from our community to ensure our commitment remains unwavering,” he said.
At the time of her resignation in February, Chandler said she could not provide specific details of the instances of sexual misconduct to which she referred in her resignation letter, or who allegedly engaged in sexual misconduct, saying she and all other board members had signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement preventing them from disclosing further details.
Board Chair Jinkerson in a statement released at that time said she and the board were aware of Chandler’s concerns but did not specifically address allegations of sexual misconduct.
“When concerns are brought to CPA, we act quickly and appropriately to address them,” she said. “As we continue to grow as an organization, we’re proactively strengthening the policies and procedures that shape our systems, our infrastructure, and the support we provide to our team and partners,” she said.
District of Columbia
Curve magazine honors Washington Blade publisher
Lynne Brown named to 2026 Power List
Washington Blade Publisher Lynne Brown has been named to the 2026 Curve Power List celebrating LGBTQ+ women and nonbinary individuals in North America who are blazing trails in their chosen fields.
“From sports and entertainment icons to corporate leaders and lawmakers, these individuals are breaking barriers, challenging norms, and shaping the future,” Curve Foundation/Curve magazine said in announcing this year’s list, which includes ABC newscaster Robin Roberts, comedian/actress Hannah Einbinder, and singer/actress Renee Rapp, among others.
Brown has worked for the Washington Blade for nearly 40 years. She was named publisher in 2007 before becoming a co-owner in 2010.
“I am honored to be recognized by Curve magazine during Lesbian Visibility Week,” Brown said. “Receiving this Curve honor is twofold. I was an early subscriber to Curve. I enjoy the product and know its history. Its journalism, layout and humorous features have inspired me.
“As an owner/publisher, receiving recognition from a similar source acknowledges my work and efforts, with a sincerity I truly appreciate. Franco Stevens, the publisher of Curve, is a business person of duration, experience, and purpose. The fact that they are in the media business, and honoring me and my publication makes it a tiny bit sweeter.”
Nominations for the Curve Power List come from the community: peers, mentors, fans, and employers.
Curve explained the significance of the list in its announcement: “An annual, publicly nominated list of impactful LGBTQ+ women and nonbinary changemakers is crucial in current times to counter discrimination, legislative rollbacks, hostility, and the invisibility of queer women within mainstream and marginal spaces and endeavors. Such a list also fosters encouragement and solidarity, and elevates voices and achievements—from high-profile roles to under appreciated areas of life.”
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Inside the lonely world of MAGA gay men
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