Commentary
Katrina continues to haunt Gulf Coast
Officials failed most vulnerable — including LGBT residents and HIV patients — after storm

Foundations are all that remain of many oceanfront homes in Gulfport, Miss., destroyed during Hurricane Katrina. (Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)
The images of Hurricane Katrina remain indelible nine years after the storm devastated the central Gulf Coast. These include pictures of the failed levees that allowed up to 17 feet of water to inundate the majority of New Orleans, bloated bodies floating in the contaminated floodwaters and a flattened Mississippi coastline.
We spent a week traveling through Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama in July to report on the lives of LGBT people who live there. Rampant discrimination, persecution and poverty were among the external factors that provided a context for our trip. It quickly became clear to us the aftermath of Katrina was another backdrop to the story that had already changed our lives in a profound and deeply personal way.
It is important to share the stories of those who survived Katrina.
A transgender man in Baton Rouge, La., told us the hurricane destroyed his family’s home in the New Orleans Lakeview neighborhood after a levee along the 17th Street Canal failed. He said Katrina was actually a blessing of sorts because he was able to live away from his mother with whom he had always had a difficult relationship.
Miss Eddie, a trans woman who lives in Belle Reve, a residence for people with HIV/AIDS in New Orleans’ Marigny neighborhood, considered the home in which she rode out the storm “blessed” in spite of the 15 inches of water that flooded it during the storm.
Many others in New Orleans and on the Mississippi Gulf Coast we met were far less fortunate.
Vicki Weeks, executive director of Belle Reve, spent 16 hours in traffic as she and her staff evacuated eight of their residents from the Crescent City to a campground in Alexandria, La., where they experienced racism and other unconscionable forms of abuse and mistreatment for nearly three weeks. They eventually relocated to Anniston, Ala., where they remained for seven months until returning to New Orleans.
Six feet of water flooded New Orleans’ Gentilly Terrace neighborhood in which Weeks’ home is located.
Damaged homes with large orange “X’s” spray-painted onto them were clearly visible along North Claiborne Avenue in New Orleans’ Upper Ninth Ward, as though Katrina had made landfall a few weeks earlier. The scene that unfolded beneath us in the Lower Ninth Ward as we drove over the Industrial Canal was one of an overgrown post-apocalyptic landscape with a scattering of green homes that Brad Pitt’s foundation helped build after Katrina.
The levee along the Industrial Canal that had been rebuilt after the hurricane loomed ominously over us as we walked down empty streets and over-grown lots where homes once stood. Music from a family reunion and cars from the Claiborne Avenue Bridge were the only sounds that permeated the area where dozens died during the storm.
The juxtaposition of what one might call people living mundane lives amid a post-Katrina wasteland that had only begun to recover to any resemblance of normality is simply impossible to describe.
The scene was equally stark along the Mississippi Gulf Coast where we interviewed local LGBT rights advocates.
One of the advocates we met for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Gulfport, Miss., that had once been on the beach said everything south of the railroad tracks “was gone” because Katrina’s 28-foot storm surge destroyed everything.
Concrete slabs with stairs that eerily lead to nowhere are all that remain of oceanfront homes on U.S. Highway 90 between Gulfport and neighboring Biloxi. The powdery white beaches and tranquil Gulf of Mexico across the street beckoned on the typically hot and sultry July afternoon that we spent on the coast as though the storm had never happened.
A lesbian with whom we spoke later that day lost her home to Katrina. The oceanfront mall in Biloxi where we interviewed her and her wife sustained significant damage during the storm.
Katrina killed more than 1,800 people in Mississippi, Louisiana and other states.
More than 20 percent of New Orleans residents were living below the poverty line when the storm made landfall on Aug. 29, 2005.
Officials estimated more than 100,000 people had no cars or access to “personal transportation” that would have allowed them to evacuate the city ahead of a hurricane. These include the eight Belle Reve residents who were able to leave New Orleans ahead of the storm only because Weeks and her staff used their private vehicles to get them to a place of relative safety.
It became immediately clear that local, state and federal officials utterly failed those who were the most vulnerable during Katrina and its aftermath in a way that can easily be described as criminal, regardless of one’s political affiliation or socio-economic status. Many of these people continue to suffer nine years later.
This is simply unacceptable.
Amid this disgraceful response to Katrina, we heard an untold number of stories of hope from those on the Gulf Coast with whom we had the good fortune of speaking during our trip.
A lesbian we interviewed in Metairie, La., was able to celebrate Christmas Eve in her family’s home in New Orleans’ Upper Ninth Ward in 2005 after her father made sufficient repairs. Pharmacies in Mississippi worked to ensure those with HIV/AIDS — many had evacuated the Crescent City and other areas of Louisiana and the Gulf Coast that Katrina devastated — received their medications without interruption.
HIV/AIDS service organizations in Alabama accommodated those with the virus.
Julie Thompson, co-president of PFLAG New Orleans, summed up this resilience and camaraderie perfectly as she talked with us about how she and her family lost their home during Katrina.
“We laid in the mud and then we finally got up and started over again,” she told us during an interview at a coffee shop near the 17th Street Canal. “Now we’re making for a better, stronger everything.”
Let’s keep Julie, Vicki, the residents of Belle Reve and others on the Gulf Coast in our thoughts as another somber anniversary passes.
Michael K. Lavers is a news reporter for the Blade; Michael Key is the Blade’s photo editor. The two spent a week in July traveling throughout the Deep South, documenting the plight of LGBT residents there.
Commentary
Protecting the trans community is not optional for elected allies and candidates
One of oldest political tactics is blaming vulnerable group for societal woes
Being an ally to the trans community is not a conditional position for me, nor should it be for any candidate. My allyship doesn’t hinge on polling, focus groups, or whether courage feels politically convenient. At a time when trans people, especially trans youth of color, are under coordinated attack, elected officials and candidates must do more than offer quiet support. We must take a public and solid stand.
History shows us how these moments begin. One of the oldest political tactics is to single out the most vulnerable and blame them for society’s anxieties — not because they are responsible, but because they are easier to blame than those with power and protection. In Nazi Germany, Jewish people were primarily targeted, but they were not the only demographic who suffered elimination. LGBTQ people, disabled people, Romani communities, political dissidents, and others were also rounded up, imprisoned, and killed. Among the earliest acts of fascistic repression was the destruction of Berlin’s Institute for Sexual Science, a pioneering center for gender-affirming care and LGBTQ research. These books and medical records were among the first to be confiscated and burned. It is not a coincidence that these same communities are now the first to suffer under this regime, they are our canaries in the coal mine signaling what’s to come.
Congress, emboldened by the rhetoric of the Donald Trump campaign, recently passed HR 3492 to criminalize healthcare workers who provide gender-affirming healthcare with fines and imprisonment. This bill, sponsored by celebrity politicians like Marjorie Taylor Greene, puts politics and headlines over people and health outcomes. Healthcare that a number of cis-gendered people also benefit from byway of hair regeneration and surgery, male and female breast augmentation, hormone replacement therapy etc. Even when these bills targeting this care do not pass, they do real damage. They create fear among patients, legal uncertainty for providers, and instability for clinics that serve the most marginalized people in our communities.
Here in D.C., organizations like Planned Parenthood and Whitman-Walker Health are lifelines for many communities. They provide gender-affirming care alongside primary care, mental health services, HIV treatment, and preventative medicine. When healthcare is politicized or criminalized, people don’t wait for court rulings — they delay care, ration medication, or disappear from the system entirely.
As a pharmacist, I know exactly what that means. These are life-saving medications. Continuity of care matters. Criminalizing and politicizing healthcare does not protect children or families — it puts lives at risk.
Instead of centering these realities, political discourse has been deliberately diverted toward a manufactured panic about trans women in sports. Let me be clear: trans women deserve to be protected and allowed to compete just like anyone else. Athletics have always included people with different bodies, strengths, and abilities. Girls and women will always encounter competitors who are stronger or faster — that is not a gender or sports crisis, it is the nature of competition.
Sports are meant to teach fairness, mutual respect, and the shared spirit of competition — not suspicion or exclusion. We should not police young people’s bodies, and we should reject attempts to single out trans youth as a political distraction. Families and doctors should be the authority on sex and gender identity.
This narrative has been cynically amplified by the right, but too often Democrats have allowed it to take hold rather than forcefully rejecting it. It is imperative to pay attention to what is happening — and to push back against every attempt to dehumanize anyone for political gain.
Trans people have always been part of our communities and our democracy. Protecting the most vulnerable is not radical — it is the foundation of a just society. My work is grounded in that commitment, and I will not waver from it. I’m proud to have hired trans political team Down Ballot to lead my campaign for DC Council At Large. We need more ally leaders of all stages to stand up for the LGBTQ+ community. We must let elected detractors know that when they come for them, then they come for all of us. We cannot allow Fox News and social media trolls to create a narrative that scares us away from protecting marginalized populations. We must stand up and do what’s right.
Anything less is not leadership.
Rep. Oye Owolewa is running for an at-large seat on the D.C. Council.
Commentary
America is going in the wrong direction for intersex children
Lawmakers are criminalizing care for trans youth, while permitting irreversible harm to intersex babies
I live with the consequences of what America is willing to condone in the name of “protecting children.”
When I was young, doctors and adults made irreversible decisions about my body without my informed consent. They weren’t responding to an emergency. They were responding to discomfort with innate physical differences and the social and medical pressure to make a child’s body conform to a rigid female-male binary. That’s the part people like to skip over when they talk about “child welfare”: the harm didn’t begin with my identity. It started with adults deciding my healthy body needed fixing.
That’s why the hypocrisy unfolding right now from statehouses to Capitol Hill feels so familiar, and so dangerous.
While harmful medical practices on intersex children, the nearly 2 percent born with differences in one or more of their physical sex characteristics, have been ongoing in the U.S. for decades, until recently, there was no law specifically condoning it.
This month, House Republicans passed one of the most extreme anti-trans bills in modern American history, advancing legislation that would criminalize gender-affirming medical care for transgender youth and threaten doctors with severe penalties for providing evidence-based treatment. The bill is framed as a measure to “protect children,” but in reality, it weaponizes the criminal legal system against families and providers who are trying to support young people in surviving adolescence.
At the same time, the administration has proposed hospital and insurance policies designed to choke off access to affirming care for trans youth nationwide by making providers fear loss of federal funding, regulatory retaliation, or prosecution. This is a familiar strategy: don’t just ban care outright; instead, make it so risky that hospitals stop providing it altogether. The result is the same everywhere. Young people lose access to care that major medical associations agree can be lifesaving.
All of this is happening under the banner of preventing “irreversible harm.”
But if America were genuinely concerned about irreversible harm to minors, the first thing lawmakers would address is the medically unnecessary, nonconsensual surgeries still performed on intersex infants and young children, procedures that permanently alter healthy tissue, often without urgent medical need, and long before a child can meaningfully participate in the decision. Human rights organizations have documented for years how these interventions are justified not by medical necessity, but by social pressure to make bodies appear more typically “female” or “male.”
Here is the uncomfortable truth: all of the state laws now banning gender-affirming care for transgender youth explicitly include exceptions that allow nonconsensual and harmful intersex surgeries to continue.
A recent JAMA Health Forum analysis found that 28 states have enacted bans on gender-affirming care for minors that carve out intersex exceptions, preserving doctors’ ability to perform irreversible “normalizing” procedures on intersex children even while prohibiting affirming care for trans adolescents.
This contradiction is not accidental. It reveals the real priority behind these laws.
If the goal were truly to protect children from irreversible medical interventions, intersex kids would be protected first. Instead, these policies target one group of children, transgender youth, while continuing to permit permanent interventions on another group whose bodies challenge the same rigid sex and gender binary that lawmakers are trying to enforce.
Intersex people are routinely erased from American policy debates, except when our bodies are invoked to justify harmful laws, warning that intersex children are being used as legal loopholes rather than protected as human beings. This “protect the children” rhetoric is routinely deployed to justify state control over bodies, while preserving medical practices that stripped intersex children like me of autonomy, good health, and choice. Those harms are not theoretical. They are lifelong.
What makes this moment even more jarring is that the federal government had finally begun to recognize intersex people and attempt to address the harms suffered.
In 2024, at the very end of his term, the Biden administration released the first-ever intersex health equity report — a landmark admission that intersex people have been harmed by the U.S. health care system. Issued by the Department of Health and Human Services, the report documents medically unnecessary interventions, lack of informed consent, and systemic erasure and recommends delaying irreversible procedures until individuals can meaningfully participate in decisions about their own bodies.
This should have been a turning point. Instead, America is moving in the opposite direction.
On day one, President Trump issued an executive order defining “sex” in a way attempting to delegitimize the existence of transgender Americans that also erased the existence of many intersex people.
When medicine is used to erase difference, it is called protection, while care that supports self-understanding is treated as a threat. This is not about medicine. It is about control.
You cannot claim to oppose irreversible harm to children while legally permitting surgeries that intersex adults and human rights experts have condemned for decades. You cannot claim to respect bodily autonomy while denying it selectively, based on whose bodies make lawmakers uncomfortable.
Protecting children means protecting all children, transgender, intersex, and cisgender alike. It means delaying irreversible interventions when they are not medically necessary. It means trusting and supporting young people and families over politicians chasing culture-war victories.
America can continue down the path of criminalizing care for some children while sanctioning harm to others, or it can finally listen to the people who have lived the consequences.
Intersex children deserve laws that protect their bodies, not politics that hurt and erase them.
Kimberly Zieselman is a human rights advocate and the author of “XOXY: A Memoir”. The author is a co-author of the JAMA Health Forum article cited, which examined state laws restricting gender-affirming care.
Today, on World AIDS Day, we honor the resilience, courage, and dignity of people living with HIV everywhere especially refugees, asylum seekers, and queer displaced communities across East Africa and the world.
For many, living with HIV is not just a health journey it is a journey of navigating stigma, borders, laws, discrimination, and survival.
Yet even in the face of displacement, uncertainty, and exclusion, queer people living with HIV continue to rise, thrive, advocate, and build community against all odds.
To every displaced person living with HIV:
• Your strength inspires us.
• Your story matters.
• You are worthy of safety, compassion, and the full right to health.
• You deserve a world where borders do not determine access to treatment, where identity does not determine dignity, and where your existence is celebrated not criminalized.
Let today be a reminder that:
• HIV is not a crime.
• Queer identity is not a crime.
• Seeking safety is not a crime.
• Stigma has no place in our communities.
• Access to treatment, care, and protection is a human right.
As we reflect, we must recommit ourselves to building systems that protect not punish displaced queer people living with HIV. We must amplify their voices, invest in inclusive healthcare, and fight the inequalities that fuel vulnerability.
Hope is stronger when we build it together.
Let’s continue to uplift, empower, and walk alongside those whose journeys are too often unheard.
Today we remember.
Today we stand together.
Today we renew hope.
Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.

