As I navigated the onset of COVID-19 in the United States, I found myself holding onto hope—perhaps it wouldn’t be as dire as predicted. I envisioned a scenario where life would continue unimpeded. I glanced at my calendar, eagerly anticipating the four LGBTQIA+ seminars I was scheduled to conduct at the end of March. I was finalizing logistics for professional development sessions at local businesses and reaching out to summer camp directors to discuss how to make counselors feel comfortable working with queer campers, regardless of their own identities. I had even applied for a role at a nearby university as an LGBTQIA+ outreach and education coordinator. My passion for advocating respect for pronouns and promoting inclusive language was palpable.
Then, everything came to an abrupt halt. All speaking engagements, training sessions, and hiring processes came to a sudden stop. The pandemic seemed to have stalled the momentum we had built, and I am deeply concerned about its implications for LGBTQIA+ rights.
My worries extend to our most vulnerable populations and the frontline workers tirelessly caring for the sick and managing essential goods. While I am doing my part to protect myself and others, I feel a profound loss of purpose. I am adrift, unable to engage in the social justice and advocacy work that fuels me. The overwhelming focus on the pandemic is understandable, yet it allows issues affecting marginalized communities, especially the queer community, to be overlooked and to fester in silence. I grieve for the loss of queer visibility and our ongoing struggle for equality.
Before the coronavirus pandemic took hold, many advocates, myself included, were vocally opposing various states’ attempts to prohibit gender-affirming care for transgender youth. There were also movements aimed at barring athletes from participating on sports teams that align with their gender identities. Tragically, just before the International Day of Transgender Visibility, Idaho enacted two anti-trans bills: one that prevents individuals from changing their gender markers on birth certificates and another that prohibits transgender girls and women from competing in women’s sports leagues. Instead of being celebrated for authentically living our truths, we were stripped of our rights and visibility. These legislative actions have legitimized discrimination against us.
I worry about the capacity of the queer community to advocate for itself amid these challenges. I am anxious for those who are isolated with unsupportive family members. There’s an unsettling fear regarding our physical safety and financial stability. LGBTQIA+ individuals already face fewer rights, lower wages, and higher levels of discrimination than their cisgender and heterosexual counterparts. According to the Human Rights Campaign, COVID-19 has impacted approximately 40% of LGBTQ workers, a stark contrast to around 22% of non-queer employees in the same sectors. Additionally, the 15% of queer individuals employed in the restaurant industry are not only facing job losses but were earning a median wage of only $11.09/hour. Financial strain is palpable, and recovery will be harder for marginalized communities.
Pride centers thrive on fundraisers, silent auctions, and sponsored events to finance their programs and staff. With these activities halted, the budgeted funds necessary to maintain safe spaces are dwindling. Businesses and donors that once supported these centers are tightening their budgets, either out of fear or necessity. School-organized LGBTQIA+ groups, PFLAG meetings, and community events have been canceled indefinitely, leaving our cherished physical spaces closed. I worry about their ability to reopen.
I believe they will reopen eventually. My true concern lies in the aftermath: when we return, will we be able to address the damage caused during this time? Rebuilding our community will require healing on many levels, and I hope we can pick up where we left off, even as we work to regain our emotional and physical presence in mainstream spaces.
Convincing schools, companies, and non-profit organizations to invest in LGBTQIA+ education has always been a challenge. As we emerge from this crisis, I fear that financial setbacks will make it even more difficult to secure funding for essential training. Although my work is crucial for creating safe environments and ensuring my financial security, many institutions may no longer view queer education as a priority. As financial burdens mount, the fight for equality risks being sidelined.
It seems the well-being of the queer community is not at the forefront of anyone’s mind. I hope we can regain our visibility soon, but for now, I find myself in a state of mourning. I am in self-preservation mode, yet I remain committed to my purpose.
To my LGBTQIA+ community members navigating this crisis, I extend my wishes for health, hope, and peace. I urge medical staff to honor the identities of trans individuals in their care and recognize queer relationships when treating community members for COVID-19. Even in times of crisis—especially in times of crisis—we deserve dignity and compassion.
Although training programs may be on pause, our right to respect remains steadfast. For more on this topic, be sure to check out our other blog post here. For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, visit Healthline and consider the expertise found at Make a Mom.
In summary, the pandemic has created significant challenges for the LGBTQIA+ community, leading to concerns about our rights, visibility, and ability to advocate for ourselves. As we navigate these uncertain times, it’s crucial to maintain our connections and commitment to equality.
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