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Recovery at the Triangle Club

Coming together as a group to fight a common addiction

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If you need help with an addiction, the Triangle Club offers an array of meetings and resources. (Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

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.

(Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

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.)

(Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)
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District of Columbia

How Pepper the courthouse dog helps victims of abuse

Reshaping how the legal system balances compassion with procedure

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Abby Stavitsky and Pepper (Courtesy photo)

Deborah Kelly’s blind husband, Alton, was dragged for blocks to his death by a hit-and-run driver who had already plowed into her on Alabama Ave., S.E., in June 2024. 

But her trauma had only just begun. It took 10 months before the driver, Kenneth Trice, Jr., was arrested, and another six months before he was sentenced to just six months behind bars.  

As she heaved and sobbed in the courtroom in November, Kelly had a steady four-legged presence by her side: Pepper the Courthouse Dog, as the black Labrador retriever is known in D.C. Superior Court.

Abby Stavitsky, a former federal prosecutor who now serves as a victims’ advocate, is the owner and handler of nine-year-old Pepper. She says that one of the things that has made Pepper such a great asset in the court in the past six years is the emotional support and comfort she provides to victims.  

“She absorbs all of the feelings and the emotions around her, but she’s very good at handling it,” Stavitsky said. 

Pepper and Stavitsky started working in Magistrate Judge Mary Grace Rook’s courtroom — and now works in Magistrate Judge Janet Albert’s — to provide support for youth who suffer trauma, especially young survivors of commercial sexual exploitation.

These specially trained dogs offer emotional support to trauma victims of all ages. Courthouse dogs can reduce victims’ and witnesses’ anxiety and stress, making it easier for them to provide clear statements in the courtroom, according to a 2019 report in the Criminal Justice Review. 

“Having something to pet and interact with is a distraction that results in victims being calmer when testifying in court,” says Stavitsky. “This gives them an extra level of comfort.” 

What brought Stavitsky and Pepper together

Stavitsky, who spent 25 years as an assistant U.S attorney, handled a lot of victim-based crimes, mostly domestic violence and sex offenses. She was also a dog lover, and once she learned about courthouse dogs and their use, she was inspired.

In 2019, Pepper was given to Stavitsky by a Massachusetts-based organization, NEADS, formerly known as the National Education for Assistance Dog Services. Although Pepper was originally trained to be a service dog, evaluators determined her character was best suited for a courthouse dog.

Pepper now works regularly in various treatment court cases involving juveniles, many of whom have experienced trauma or are involved in the child welfare system. She also sits with victims while they are testifying in a trial.

“She loves people, especially children,” Stavitsky said. “She loves that interaction.”

Courthouse dogs have a long history 

In courthouses across the U.S. specially trained “facility dogs” are becoming an important part of how the justice system supports vulnerable victims and witnesses.

Since the late 1980s, these dogs were used to help trauma survivors and anxious children during testimonies and interviews. The first dog to make an appearance in a courtroom was Sheba, a German shepherd who assisted child sexual abuse victims in the Queens (N.Y.) District Attorney’s Office. Courthouse dogs help them communicate more clearly, especially in these settings that make them anxious and stressed.

Unlike service dogs, courthouse facility dogs are professionally trained through accredited assistance dog organizations and work daily alongside prosecutors, victim advocates, and forensic interviewers. For example, courthouse dogs can have more social interaction, unlike service dogs.

Courthouse dogs’ growing use has prompted state laws and professional guidelines to recognize the dogs as a trauma-informed tool that helps victims participate in the justice process without compromising courtroom fairness.

As more jurisdictions adopt these programs, courthouse dogs are reshaping how the legal system balances compassion with procedure, ensuring that victims’ voices can be heard in environments that might otherwise silence them.

Pepper makes it easy to see why. 

“I really love people, especially kids, and can provide emotional support and comfort during all stages of the court process,” reads the business card Stavitsky hands out with Pepper’s picture. “I’m calm, quiet and can stay in place for several hours.” 

(This article was written by a student in the journalism program at Bard High School Early College DC. This work is part of a partnership between the Washington Blade Foundation and Youthcast Media Group, funded through the FY26 Community Development Grant from the Office of D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser.)

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District of Columbia

How new barriers to health care coverage are hitting D.C.

Federally qualified health centers bracing for influx of newly uninsured patients

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Erin Loubier, vice president for access and strategic initiatives at Whitman-Walker Health. (Courtesy photo)

Washington, D.C. has the second-lowest rate of people who lack health insurance in the country, but many residents are facing new barriers to health care due to provisions of the sweeping federal law passed in July, which threatens access for thousands. 

Changes to insurance eligibility and the rising cost of premiums, which kicked in for some in October and others more recently, are expected to leave many more patients uninsured or unable to afford medical care. Federally qualified health centers, including D.C.’s Whitman-Walker Health, where 10 to 12 percent of patients are uninsured, are bracing for an influx of newly uninsured patients while facing their own financial challenges. 

Even in D.C., where uninsured rates have been among the lowest in the country, changes brought on by the passage of the Republican mega bill (known as the “Big Beautiful Bill”) will have major effects. 

The changes from the bill affect Medicaid, which is free to low-income patients, and subsidies for insurance that people buy on the health insurance exchanges that were started under the Affordable Care Act, which were allowed to expire on Dec. 31. 

Erin Loubier, vice president for access and strategic initiatives at Whitman-Walker Health, says some Whitman-Walker Health patients have received notices about premium increases, including several who say the increases are up to 1,000 percent more than they were paying. 

“That is like paying rent,” she says. “We live in an expensive city, so any increases are going to be really, really hard on people.”

Whitman-Walker Health and other healthcare providers are expecting the changes to have multiple effects — some patients may not be able to afford coverage or may avoid going to the doctor and allow health conditions to worsen because they can’t afford care, and many more will be seeking care who don’t have insurance. 

“I’m worried that we’re going to not just have people who can’t get care, but that they delay care until they’re really sick, and then the care is not as effective because they might have waited too long, and then we may have a less healthy population,” Loubier says.

Loubier says delaying care, and serving more people without insurance has major implications for Whitman-Walker Health and other health centers serving the community.

“There’s going to be a lot of pressure on us to try to find and raise more money, and that’s going to be harder, because I think all organizations who provide health care are going to be facing this,” she says. 

The U.S. health care system is the most expensive in the world, and has much higher out-of-pocket costs for individuals. But in other countries like the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, and many others, health care is much less expensive — or even free.

Even though the U.S. has a high-priced healthcare system, critics say there are still ways to bring down costs by forcing insurance and pharmaceutical companies to absorb more of the costs, rather than transferring the costs to patients.

“In the U.S., they end up trying to cut costs at the person’s level, not at the level of the different corporations or structures that are making a lot of money in healthcare,” said Loubier. “Our system is so complicated and there is probably waste in it, but I don’t think that that cost and waste is at the ‘people’ level. I think it’s higher up at the system level, but that is much, much harder to get people to try to make cuts at that end.”

Ultimately at Whitman-Walker Health, healthcare providers and insurance navigators are planning to help with everyday necessities when it comes to healthcare coverage and striving to provide healthcare in partnership with patients, said Loubier.

“The key here is we’re going to have a lot of people who may lose insurance, and they’re going to rely on places like Whitman-Walker Health and other community health centers, so we have to figure out how we keep providing that care,” she said. 

(This article was written by a student in the journalism program at Bard High School Early College DC. This work is part of a partnership between the Washington Blade Foundation and Youthcast Media Group, funded through the FY26 Community Development Grant from the Office of D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser.)

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District of Columbia

Mayor Bowser signs bill requiring insurers to cover PrEP

‘This is a win in the fight against HIV/AIDS’

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D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser (Washington Blade file photo by Michael Key)

D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser on March 20 signed a bill approved by the D.C. Council that requires health insurance companies to cover the costs of HIV prevention or PrEP drugs for D.C. residents at risk for HIV infection.

Like all legislation approved by the Council and signed by the mayor, the bill, called the PrEP D.C. Amendment Act, was sent to Capitol Hill for a required 30-day congressional review period before it takes effect as D.C. law.

Gay D.C. Council member Zachary Parker (D-Ward 5) last year introduced the bill.

Insurance coverage for PrEP drugs has been provided through coverage standards included in the Affordable Care Act, known as Obamacare. But AIDS advocacy organizations have called on states and D.C. to pass their own legislation requiring insurance coverage of PrEP as a safeguard in case federal policies are weakened or removed by the Trump administration, which has already reduced federal funding for HIV/AIDS-related programs.

Like legislation passed by other states, the PrEP D.C. Amendment Act requires insurers to cover all PrEP drugs approved by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration.

Studies have shown that PrEP drugs, which can be taken as pills or by injection just twice a year, are highly effective in preventing HIV infection.

“I think this is a win for our community,” Parker said after the D.C. Council voted unanimously to approve the bill on its first vote on the measure in February. “And this is a win in the fight against HIV/AIDS.”  

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