Opinions
The tumultuous relationship between queers and religion
One lesbian’s story offers a glimmer of hope
It was a hot, humid Sunday in the middle of July when my ex suddenly crossed my mind. Of course, it didn’t help that it was his birthday, just like it didn’t help that I was sitting idly outside the bar since our bouncer was running late. It all made the perfect storm for some tortured self-reflection.
Thank God (pun intended) Alexa walked outside in that moment. Alexa was a bartender, and I’m certain all our staff would agree her mere presence brightened the business. Years of bartending rendered her with a keen sense of reading people, so it didn’t take long for her to inquire what was on my mind.
So, I let it all spill out. I explained he was no ordinary ex, for he was the first person I truly fell in love with. I recounted our days on end enjoying each other’s company, and how it always felt so easy, and never like a performance. There was, however, a teeny, tiny problem that later turned into a big problem: He was closeted.
It’s a tale as old as time, I suppose — queer self-rejection in the name of religion. In this case, my ex grew up Evangelical, resulting in an existential crisis that broke both of our hearts. Perhaps the right question, though, is why was I surprised? After all, the queer relationship with God has always been tense for reasons so obvious I don’t need to spell them out here.
Despite being obvious, it seems backwards, doesn’t it? Weren’t anti-gay religious biases so last millennium? Yet if the 2024 election was any indication, the unfortunate answer is no. Today religion still serves as the backdrop for anti-LGTBQ legislation, policy, and rhetoric. In fact, I often see fellow millennials, some of whom I grew up with, profess religious beliefs on social media. Many are parents who fear LGBTQ inclusion being taught in schools so much that they now home school their children to shield them from it.
Because of all this damn religion, I sat there brokenhearted, reminiscing on the love I lost. Alexa, meanwhile, listened intently throughout, and once I finished she told me she could relate. When I asked how, she replied, “I used to be a worship leader.”
To say you could have knocked me over with a feather would be an understatement. How someone goes from that to a proudly out bartender at a gay bar was a story I had to hear.
“I was going through a really low point in life,” she started, “and I turned to God and to Christianity to help me out of it. I had a sense that I needed to give up my lifestyle and ways to follow what I believed at the time that God had for me. This included turning away from my identity as a lesbian.
“I played into a lot of rhetoric that I thought was good and pure at the time but was slowly killing me on the inside. This mostly had to do with my sexuality. I believed for so long that being a lesbian was a sin and I couldn’t be in a loving relationship with a woman and God at the same time. However, as I became more depressed and in turmoil over this, I prayed and fasted for the desire to be lifted, so I began to dig deeper.”
Already I could spot similarities with my ex. While I didn’t grow up religious, coming out was still hard. I couldn’t imagine the thought of mortal sin hanging over me as I tried.
“I was involved in a high control group that made me mistrust myself,” Alexa continued. “They were controlling in a subtle way that ultimately led me to fear. I think that queers learn not to trust their instincts when it comes to how they naturally feel. Specifically, certain groups of Christianity teach that being queer is unnatural and an abomination to God. Though the term abomination is also highly misused, we understand it to mean the worst thing you could do against God, so we learn to go against our nature and to repress our feelings and to fight them as an attack of the enemy (the devil).
“This causes you to lose a sense of autonomy and a sense of self. You no longer can trust yourself to decide what is good, or natural, or right. That mistrust can easily lead you down a road where others take advantage and take that authority over you. This is how we see religious leaders get away with abuse. Though this doesn’t just apply to queer people. This can happen to anyone.”
I had been so angry with my ex when he chose scripture over us. Alexa’s perspective made me realize how unnecessary that was, since he was already angry at himself. My thoughts also swirled to friends who grew up in strict religious households. Amid all the types of queer trauma, religious trauma is a different beast. The tactics used to manipulate young minds are harsh, and even dangerous.
We ought to wonder how far any religion is willing to go to fight homosexuality from within. If sexual abuse was uncovered in one popular sect of Christianity, it’s probably further than we think. These queers are often trapped by an institution so set on keeping them straight, it costs them their truest self. This, in turn, catapults them into a crisis so deep, not all escape.
But Alexa did, so I had to ask how.
“I studied more,” she replied. “I looked at the scriptures dealing with this and discovered that they’d been translated within an agenda and cultural context that didn’t match what I was dealing with. The story of Soddom and Gomorrah, the mistranslation of homosexuality in the New Testament, etc. I began looking at the Bible differently — as less of the exact words that God spoke and as more of man’s interpretation of the world and God. I don’t claim to be a biblical scholar but the more I studied the more I saw that I was placing unnecessary restrictions on myself for the sake of man and not for the sake of my relationship with God.”
This I found most fascinating — that Alexa found her freedom not by hiding her orientation nor by suppressing her spirituality but rather by leaning into both.
It’s easy to presume God and homosexuality are diametrically opposed, but that would be an oversimplification. I mean, look around: there are churches throughout D.C. embracing pro-LGBTQ messages. Instead of scaring queers toward or away from religion, perhaps we ought to give them space to embrace both.
Alexa explained it well: “I wonder sometimes if I like the God of the Bible. There are so many things He proclaims, requires, and stands for that I don’t morally agree with. Though there are many things I have learned from Jesus that I would say kind of correct some of that. The Jesus that fought for the outcasts and helped them. Who advocated for the poor. Who recognized that piety and character are not always synonymous.”
I now see queers closeted by religion differently. No longer can I consider them cowardly, for they experience the worst torture of us all: sinister manipulation breeding deep inner conflict. Not only does my ex not deserve my anger, but he also deserves my empathy.
I asked Alexa’s advice to queers experiencing what she went through.
“Let the pressure go,” she replied. “That’s easier said than done. Especially if your whole existence is tied up in it. However, you really have to ask yourself who you are, what you believe, and what you’re willing to live and die for. In my experience being closeted especially due to religious pressure is a silent killer. The stress your body goes through kills you from the inside and may ultimately lead to risky and deadly decisions. It can not only hurt you but those around you.”
She didn’t need to share details, since when I last checked on my ex, I learned he fell into hard times. As painful as that is, at least I know a happy ending is still possible for him.
A few months after our conversation, Alexa married the love of her life. In fact, she and her wife had their reception in the bar, so I had the privilege of seeing how happy she is. Knowing her journey made it that much sweeter.
And just last week, Alexa gave birth to their son. He’s a lucky kid, for he has two wonderful parents who love him very much.
Alexa’s story is an important one. It details the lengths religious institutions are willing to go to suppress homosexuality. It reveals the internal strife religious queers still experience. Most importantly, though, it’s the story of a young, queer woman who found strength in her queer self through her personal relationship with God. It’s a story I’ll keep close to my heart, especially at this time of year — one that provides that glimmer of hope I need now more than ever.
In other words, her story gives me faith.
Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer and barback.
Opinions
Skipping Memorial Day crowds in Rehoboth Beach
After 30 years, I’ve become allergic to large gatherings
There are a lot of things about getting older that are great. I love retirement, love the cruises I take, time at my favorite coffee shops, both in D.C. and at the Coffee Mill in Rehoboth. Then there are some not so great things. I have had a few health issues, which luckily, I have fully overcome. Some issues you can do something about, others you can’t. One of the things I have come to realize is, I no longer enjoy big crowds, and this is something I can do something about. Just avoid them.
I have spent every holiday weekend since buying my place in Rehoboth, and that is going on 30 years, at the beach. I go for Christmas and New Year’s, Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend, President’s Day, Memorial Day, and Labor Day. Add a few extra holidays I may be missing like Veterans’ Day, if it falls on a weekend. This is the first year I won’t be there on Memorial Day, and it is by choice. Instead, will be staying in D.C. Some will ask why, and my simple answer is to avoid the crowds. I keep thinking of the crowds last Memorial Day and decided to see how it goes skipping it this year.
Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled for all the businesses at the beach when they are swamped with people. And glad those people who want to be there are having a great time, and don’t mind when the lines to get into Aqua and Diego’s are around the block. Or when my favorite place for coffee, The Coffee Mill, has a line when I get there at 7 a.m. When you can’t get a reservation at the Pines or even Ava’s. But last year it finally occurred to me why I wasn’t having as much fun as I used to, and realized it was because I have become allergic to crowds. So, for the first time this year, I determined I was going to stay away and see how it feels. I may regret it after a few hours at home in D.C., or when seeing friends’ posts on Instagram and Facebook. But am going to take that chance. One thing I do regret missing is the incredible annual brunch thrown by my friend Robert, and his husband, but am determined to see what it feels like not being at the beach for the kick-off holiday weekend of the summer.
To wean myself away, I did go last weekend. Had a great time seeing friends. Had fun at Aqua each evening for happy hour; went to a great party at CAMP in honor of their new Executive Director Dr. Robin Brennan. I’ve had a chance to chat with her, and believe they made a great choice when hiring her. Then on Friday evening I went to the Washington Blade annual season kick-off party at Diego’s and met the new Steve Elkins Fellow, Thomas Weaverling, and am sure he will do a great job. It was wonderful to see Ashley Biden there accepting the award given posthumously to Beau Biden for all he did for the LGBTQ community. Then on Saturday I stopped in at Freddie’s Beach Bar for the Cloud Nine reunion. That brought back so many good memories. It was coordinated by the inimitable Fay Jacobs. It was back then when I did like crowds, the more the merrier, and remember dancing all evening on the small crowded dance floor. Some people at the reunion reminded me of all the years I hosted an annual Memorial Day party, actually the first 10 years I had my place at the beach. It was catered by the Blue Moon, when my friend Rob was there, and they brought the Champagne, hors d’oeuvres, and even a bartender. I just had to have fun, and I did. The thought of doing that today is a little overwhelming, and I think it is about age.
So, this year I will see how much I miss being at the beach for the holiday weekend. Then after my June trip to France, will decide whether I want to do the same for the Fourth of July. I kind of look forward to seeing what my thoughts on it are, and how it goes.
For those of you at the beach, I hope the place is a zoo, of the best kind, and you all have a fabulous time.
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.
Opinions
GLAA’s 2026 primary election ratings show candidates agree on basics
We applaud all who are standing up for human rights in D.C.
Our local elections in D.C. this year will be the most consequential in a long time, as we will get a new mayor, several new Council members, and a new delegate to Congress. It also comes amid the most intensive and far-ranging federal attacks on our self-determination in the history of Home Rule, along with concerted efforts to deprive members of our communities of their rights and well being. As always, GLAA publishes our policy brief and ratings on candidates to help inform voters as they make these momentous decisions. This year, our policy brief and candidate questionnaire are a recommitment to promoting the basics: basic human rights, basic human needs, and basic human decency.
Though GLAA does not issue endorsements, we do rate candidates. Of the candidates who responded, mayoral candidate Janeese Lewis George, and Ward 1 Council candidates Rashida Brown, Miguel Trindade Deramo, and Aparna Raj received a +10, the highest possible rating a candidate can receive from GLAA. This indicated strong agreement with GLAA, thoughtful answers, and an impressive record of action on the issues presented in our brief and policy questionnaire. Other high scores include Oye Owolewa, the highest scoring candidate for the Council At-Large primary election, with a score of 9, and Doni Crawford, who scored the highest in the Council At-Large special election, with 6.5.
For the 2026 primary and special elections, candidates are in broad agreement with GLAA’s policy priorities. In seven out of 10 of our priorities, each candidate indicated agreement. Total consensus on core issues signals that whomever is elected to Council and mayor, we should expect to hold our elected officials accountable to our goals of protecting home rule, resisting federal overreach, advancing transgender healthcare rights, and eliminating chronic homelessness in the District. Other areas of agreement include ending food insecurity, building equitable energy infrastructure, and ensuring robust access points to public benefits. While candidates agree on the basics, they distinguish themselves in the depth and creativity in their responses, and their record on the issues. To read and review their responses in depth, visit glaa.org or outvotedc.org.
As D.C.’s oldest LGBTQ advocacy organization, we know the power that queer people have in local elections. Our queer siblings are among the privileged and the dispossessed. For our communities, this can be an opportunity and an obligation. GLAA’s policy brief is an invitation and call to action. When we do better to support those at the margins, we see an increase in our collective wellbeing. Using a “queer lens” we can see radical and concrete ways that the District can use our power to uplift us all.
We hope the candidate ratings, their responses, and our policy brief are useful to the community as we make decisions during this consequential year. We applaud all who are standing up for D.C., for human rights, for civil rights. We invite you to join us in the work to create the queer future we all deserve.
Benjamin Brooks is president of GLAA; Darby Hickey is secretary.
Ghana
Intersex lives, constitutional freedom, and the dangerous future of Ghana’s Human Sexual Rights and Family Values Bill
Lawmakers continue to consider draconian measure
There is a dangerous silence surrounding intersex lives in Ghana — a silence shaped by fear, misinformation, cultural misunderstanding, and institutional neglect. Today, amid discussions around the possible passage of the Human Sexual Rights and Family Values Bill, 2025, that silence risks becoming law, reinforcing exclusion and deepening the marginalization of already invisible lives.
Much of the national debate surrounding the bill has focused on LGBTQ+ identities. Yet buried within it are implications for intersex persons that many Ghanaians do not fully understand because intersex realities remain largely invisible.
Intersex persons are born with natural variations in chromosomes, hormones, reproductive anatomy, and/or genital characteristics that do not fit typical definitions of male or female bodies. Intersex is not a sexual orientation or gender identity. It is a biological reality. Ghana’s Commission on Human Rights and Administrative Justice (CHRAJ) has clearly acknowledged this distinction.
Despite this distinction, the bill mistakenly collapses intersex realities into a legal framework linked to LGBTQ+ criminalization.
Although the bill contains only limited references to intersex persons, under certain medical exceptions, these references do not amount to recognition or protection. Instead, they frame intersex bodies as abnormalities requiring regulation, correction, and institutional management. This approach is inconsistent not only with Ghana’s constitutional guarantees of dignity, equality, privacy, and liberty, but also with emerging African and international human rights standards. The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights Resolution on the Promotion and Protection of the Rights of Intersex Persons in Africa – ACHPR/Res.552 (LXXIV) 2023 affirms protections relating to bodily integrity, dignity, freedom from discrimination, and against harmful medical practices. Additionally, the United Nations has repeatedly condemned medically unnecessary and non-consensual interventions on intersex children. Rather than affirming the humanity and autonomy of intersex persons, the bill risks legitimizing systems of surveillance, coercion, violence, and institutional erasure.
This is not protection.
It is managed erasure.
A child born intersex in Ghana already enters a society shaped by secrecy and stigma. Families are often pressured to hide intersex children or seek “correction” to make their bodies conform to social expectations.
The bill risks intensifying this pressure.
Clause 17 creates space for “approved service providers” to support interventions relating to intersex persons, yet offers little protection around informed consent, bodily autonomy, confidentiality, or coercive treatment. Under the language of “correction” or “support,” harmful interventions may become normalized.
The intersex community has documented painful lived experiences of intersex Ghanaians that reveal the devastating consequences of stigma and invisibility.
One heartbreaking case involved intersex twins born in Ghana’s Eastern Region in 1993, who were repeatedly forced to move from village to village because of rejection and ridicule. After losing their father, their main source of protection and support, they became even more vulnerable and reportedly experienced severe emotional distress, including suicidal thoughts linked to years of stigma and exclusion. This is what invisibility looks like in practice.
Another painful example is the story of Ativor Holali, whose lived experience exposed the cruel realities intersex persons face in sports and public life. Ativor Holali endured invasive scrutiny, public humiliation, and social suspicion because her body did not conform to rigid expectations of femininity. Rather than being protected as a Ghanaian athlete deserving dignity and privacy, she became the subject of speculation, gossip, and institutional discomfort.
Her experience reflects a broader social crisis: when society insists that every body must fit a narrow binary definition, intersex people are forced to defend their humanity in spaces where dignity should already be guaranteed.
Intersex Persons Society Of Ghana (IPSOG)’s Ŋusẽdodo research further revealed that approximately 70 percent of intersex respondents reported depression, anxiety, trauma, or severe emotional distress linked to medical mistreatment, family rejection, bullying, and social exclusion.
The bill risks transforming these existing prejudices into institutional policy. Several provisions risk deepening surveillance, restricting advocacy, weakening confidentiality, and discouraging public education around intersex realities. Intersex-led organizations providing healthcare guidance, legal referrals, psychosocial support, and community services may face serious challenges.
This places IPSOG and other intersex-led organizations in Ghana at serious risk.
For many intersex Ghanaians, these spaces are not political luxuries.
They are survival mechanisms.
Governments derive legitimacy by protecting the natural rights of all persons, including dignity, liberty, bodily autonomy, and freedom from arbitrary interference. The bill raises concerns because it risks weakening these protections for intersex persons through surveillance, coercive interventions, and restrictions on advocacy.
Ghana’s Constitution declares that “the dignity of all persons shall be inviolable.” Articles 15, 17, 18, and 21 specifically protect dignity, equality, privacy, expression, and freedom of association. These protections should apply equally to intersex persons.
Intersex persons are not threats to Ghanaian culture.
Intersex children are not moral dangers.
Intersex bodies are not political weapons.
They are human beings deserving dignity, healthcare, safety, and constitutional protection.
The true measure of a democracy is how it protects those most vulnerable to exclusion. At this moment, Ghana faces a choice: deepen fear and silence, or uphold dignity, bodily autonomy, and constitutional freedom for intersex persons.
History will remember the choice we make.
Fafali Delight Akortsu is the founder and president of the Intersex Persons Society of Ghana (IPSOG).
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