If all goes to plan, next month will see Amazon boss Jeff Bezos blast off into space on one of his own Blue Origin rockets. Just one problem though. Neither he nor the other five passengers are likely to get any travel insurance for the trip. Financial industry experts say no firm is ready to offer liability cover for space tourists. And there’s no legal requirement for Blue Origin to offer any, though the amateur astronauts may be able to get their own life insurance. For professional space travelers it’s all nothing new. NASA doesn’t buy liability cover for its astronauts, with launches effectively insured by taxpayers. But lack of insurance could pose a problem for the nascent space tourism business. Insurance broker Marsh say it’s not aware of any case where rocket passengers have had liability cover. Experts say insurers expect iron-clad waivers stating they they will bear no burden if someone dies. It all harks back to the early days of aviation, with the first-ever air travel policy written in 1911. A few years later, adventurer Charles Lindbergh was insured for his pioneering transatlantic flight. Aviation insurance has since become a multibillion dollar market, but it’s not clear whether that model can be applied to space travel too. For now, a lack of cover may not deter Bezos. As for insurers, they may be happier to provide cover for future flights… when the passenger list doesn’t include the world’s richest man.
Wizel started as a Production Intern with the Giants during the 2014 season before working as a freelance employee for the next few years. She was then brought on as a full-time employee of the team in 2019. This upcoming season will be Wizel’s eighth with the Giants.
The partnership between the Giants and the NYGFL began in 2017. Upon becoming a captain in the league that year, Wizel began to try out and participate on some of the league’s tournament teams. The NYGFL sends teams to several tournaments each year, consisting of some of the league’s most competitive players, including the Florida Sunshine Cup Tournament every February. These tournaments require booking flights and hotels, so team members reach out to people within their circles for sponsorship opportunities. This was what sparked the connection between the NYGFL and the Giants.
“Whenever we’re playing in tournaments, we’re always trying to fundraise just because normally you’re flying and staying in hotels, so the money can add up for those things,” Wizel said. “Everyone was kind of pulling from their own lives, thinking about who they knew as far as sponsorship opportunities. At the time, I was working with the Giants and thought this could be a really nice partnership for both sides.
“I reached out to (Director of Community Relations and Youth Football) Ethan Medley, and he was extremely open and receptive to getting the partnership going, which was really exciting for me as far as being able to bridge two things that are very prominent in my life. That was really cool. The Giants became partners with the NYGFL before it was popular to have professional teams partner with LGBTQ groups and teams in that nature. I would say they were ahead of the curve and always very open to that, which I definitely appreciate.”
At the time Wizel approached the organization about becoming a sponsor, her lifestyle was not necessarily known within the organization. However, bringing this partnership opportunity to the team was a way to open the door to everyone knowing, which she was more than happy to do. As Wizel put it, “the more people that are out and proud, the better.”
While having the Giants as a sponsor helped fund some of the league’s tournament teams over the years, the partnership goes well beyond that.
The Giants, along with the NFL and the New York Jets, also served as a presenting partner of Gay Bowl XIX, a tournament held in New York City in 2019. The Gay Bowl is an annual tournament put together by the National Gay Flag Football League that brings together hundreds of LGBTQ+ and straight ally athletes to compete, connect and unite as a community around the game of football. Former Giants long snapper and two-time Super Bowl champion Zak DeOssie attended a celebration event for Gay Bowl XIX, where he addressed the crowd and helped hand out trophies to the athletes.
“Representation is essential to achieving LGBTQIA+ inclusivity in sports, equal rights, and breaking down stereotypes,” said Monty Clinton, the Commissioner of the NYGFL. “Recognition from major sports organizations like the NFL and the New York Giants helps to legitimize what we do as athletes and amplifies our community’s voice. The support and partnership that we’ve gotten with the Giants, it really helps us expand our reach and our platform on a much larger scale.
“We’re a nonprofit institution, so being able to work with the Giants, and in our efforts to fight for equal rights, diversity, and inclusion on every level, it means a lot. It continues to help us even function as an organization, and helps give us a platform to spread our mission and the purpose that we are as a league.”
Wizel started as a Production Intern with the Giants during the 2014 season before working as a freelance employee for the next few years. She was then brought on as a full-time employee of the team in 2019. This upcoming season will be Wizel’s eighth with the Giants.
The partnership between the Giants and the NYGFL began in 2017. Upon becoming a captain in the league that year, Wizel began to try out and participate on some of the league’s tournament teams. The NYGFL sends teams to several tournaments each year, consisting of some of the league’s most competitive players, including the Florida Sunshine Cup Tournament every February. These tournaments require booking flights and hotels, so team members reach out to people within their circles for sponsorship opportunities. This was what sparked the connection between the NYGFL and the Giants.
“Whenever we’re playing in tournaments, we’re always trying to fundraise just because normally you’re flying and staying in hotels, so the money can add up for those things,” Wizel said. “Everyone was kind of pulling from their own lives, thinking about who they knew as far as sponsorship opportunities. At the time, I was working with the Giants and thought this could be a really nice partnership for both sides.
“I reached out to (Director of Community Relations and Youth Football) Ethan Medley, and he was extremely open and receptive to getting the partnership going, which was really exciting for me as far as being able to bridge two things that are very prominent in my life. That was really cool. The Giants became partners with the NYGFL before it was popular to have professional teams partner with LGBTQ groups and teams in that nature. I would say they were ahead of the curve and always very open to that, which I definitely appreciate.”
At the time Wizel approached the organization about becoming a sponsor, her lifestyle was not necessarily known within the organization. However, bringing this partnership opportunity to the team was a way to open the door to everyone knowing, which she was more than happy to do. As Wizel put it, “the more people that are out and proud, the better.”
While having the Giants as a sponsor helped fund some of the league’s tournament teams over the years, the partnership goes well beyond that.
The Giants, along with the NFL and the New York Jets, also served as a presenting partner of Gay Bowl XIX, a tournament held in New York City in 2019. The Gay Bowl is an annual tournament put together by the National Gay Flag Football League that brings together hundreds of LGBTQ+ and straight ally athletes to compete, connect and unite as a community around the game of football. Former Giants long snapper and two-time Super Bowl champion Zak DeOssie attended a celebration event for Gay Bowl XIX, where he addressed the crowd and helped hand out trophies to the athletes.
“Representation is essential to achieving LGBTQIA+ inclusivity in sports, equal rights, and breaking down stereotypes,” said Monty Clinton, the Commissioner of the NYGFL. “Recognition from major sports organizations like the NFL and the New York Giants helps to legitimize what we do as athletes and amplifies our community’s voice. The support and partnership that we’ve gotten with the Giants, it really helps us expand our reach and our platform on a much larger scale.
“We’re a nonprofit institution, so being able to work with the Giants, and in our efforts to fight for equal rights, diversity, and inclusion on every level, it means a lot. It continues to help us even function as an organization, and helps give us a platform to spread our mission and the purpose that we are as a league.”
June in Seattle is habitually accompanied by the colors of the rainbow adorning street corners and the windows of restaurants, cafes and stores, and many activities celebrating Pride. This year, Seattle Pride, which in recent years has been the main Pride event in the city, will once again be virtual, taking place with performances, panels and more June 26-27. Other Pride events, organized by a range of organizations, take place throughout the month.
But just because some Pride events in Seattle will be virtual doesn’t make Pride any less meaningful. Here, longtime members of the LGBTQ+ community (LGBTQ+ stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer/questioning, with the + denoting everything along the gender and sexuality spectrum) reflect on the memories of past Pride events and how the month has metamorphosed into modern Pride, while newer members of the community share how Seattle Pride has helped them feel seen, accepted, proud.
Lamar Van Dyke and Rita Smith
Lamar Van Dyke’s first Seattle Pride was in 1980, and she went on to emcee the Dyke March for 20 years. She also ran Dykes on Bikes, who circumnavigate Pride parades on their motorcycles, ensuring the marches reach their destinations. “We would make our way up Broadway making these big loops,” said Van Dyke, 74. “Waving to people and acting crazy and having fun.”
Seattle Pride (and the celebration of Pride in general) has always been a day where, in Van Dyke’s words, one could say a particular four-letter expletive to everything, “and be as gay as you wanted and go to the parade.”
The first Seattle Pride that Rita Smith, 77, attended was in 1978, when she recalls the parade coming to a joyous end in Pioneer Square. Over the years, she has watched the procession wind from Capitol Hill to the skyscrapers of Fourth Avenue downtown. But both Smith and Van Dyke noted the subtle shift in Seattle Pride after it moved from its longtime home on Capitol Hill in 2006.
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“The participation element has become way more accepted and middle of the road. Pride used to be a time to just act up,” said Van Dyke, who plans to attend neighborhood Pride events that she says still have that “just act up” spirit to them.
Smith described the move as being full of irony: As the parade became more mainstream, “which is one of the points of being out there, to have the larger community get used to that and accept us and embrace us,” one cannot ignore the carnival-like sense many Pride celebrations now encompass, she said. “In the early days when we marched on Capitol Hill, it was definitely about stepping out. It has evolved now to a place that I think is a good sign in terms of our being more a part of the mainstream — lots of big business want to get involved after all — but it also feels like it compromises some things.”
While much has changed since the processions of the past, one thing remains constant: the purpose of Pride. Although this year’s Seattle Pride will not be in-person, “it still has tremendous meaning for people who are new to the community for whom it’s achieving what it once achieved for me,” Smith reflected.
Smith has been out for nearly 50 years — yet she is still seen as “less than and perverted and sinful” by people in her family and hometown, she said. “I remember in particular, when I went to some of the early marches, seeing PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) was always moving. I usually just cried — I still do — because of the fact that my parents and family are not supportive. It has meant a lot to me to have parents and friends and people support me out in the open,” Smith said.
In the early 1990s, Smith marched in Seattle Pride alongside a young man who needed a marching companion. He was from Leavenworth, a town a few miles away from her small Central Washington hometown. “It meant so much because I knew just a bit of what he had gone through in another generation. I was able to be there for him and make that generational connection,” she said.
Smith recalled participating in the massive 1993 March on Washington for Lesbian, Gay, and Bi Equal Rights and Liberation, and realizing the subways of Washington, D.C., were filled with members of the LGBTQ+ community. “That feeling of validation — of ‘I’m not alone’ — I think that’s a big part of what Pride events accomplish.”
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Nicole Perry
For Nicole Perry, 32, community is something she found shortly after arriving in Washington state in 2017. She made connections with a group of people, including those older than herself, whom she now regards as family.
The connections between old and new are threads that help keep the seams of the LGBTQ+ community together.
Before moving to Tacoma from Dallas, Perry described her perception of the LGBTQ+ community as: “Focusing on the ‘L’ and the ‘G,’ and although the ‘T’ is part of the community, people didn’t focus on that or talk about it a whole lot either.” Before attending Seattle Pride in 2018, Perry only felt seen as a transgender woman “in limited spaces.”
In Seattle, “anyone and everyone can come out,” she said, highlighted by the fact that within her first year of living in Seattle, Perry led two parades, one of them Trans Pride Seattle.
Perry looks forward to attending Seattle Pride this year. “Even if it’s a virtual Pride, just holding the event shows those in our community that even though the pandemic is happening right now, we still want to bring the community together.”
And, she added, Pride is an opportunity for her to “celebrate the parts of me that otherwise get forgotten about … and also the parts that some people choose to ignore.”
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De Aunt’e Damper
Growing up, De Aunt’e Damper, 36, felt lost. “I could be Black in the Rainier Beach area because my culture and people were there. Then I could go to places like Capitol Hill, and it affirms with the LGBTQIA community, but nothing culturally. So the questions I asked growing up was, ‘Where do you fit? Where can you be seen at? Where can all of you be accepted?’ “
After Damper became the first LGBTQ chair of the Seattle King County chapter of the NAACP, he persuaded the organization to participate in Seattle Pride for the first time two years ago — an experience that “meant everything,” Damper said.
“I had elders who were learning to affirm for the first time, who participated in Pride for the first time,” he said. “I was able to walk with people in my LGBTQIA community who participated in Pride for the very first time in their 30 or so years. And for the first time, I felt seen in my Blackness and in my queerness. There was a lot of tear shedding at that space because I think that sometimes I’ve never felt seen. Participating in that event … it was all of me. All my Blackness, all my queerness, in one space.”
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Damper says he’s thankful for Seattle Pride’s resilience. “We have a lot of LGBTQIA community members that may be living with a health disparity, so being social in this virtual space, we’re looking out for our brothers and sisters and nonbinary folks,” he said. “There’s been so many Pride events that have decided to cancel because they couldn’t be virtual. But community is when you reach … and community reaches back.”
Mary Ginther
Mary Ginther, 21, who grew up Catholic in Sammamish, said she didn’t know much about the gay community. “But I knew I was attracted to women.”
Ginther’s first Seattle Pride was in 2017, although she did not yet publicly recognize herself within the kaleidoscopic Pride flag. Before coming out, she remembers thinking of her sexuality as “just a little footnote of who I am as a person.”
“I was just scared to come out. I didn’t feel super proud or secure in my sexuality and who I was,” Ginther said, especially because she was in an environment where people around her would “use slurs or make gay jokes. Even some of my close friends made jokes like, ‘That’s so gay.’ “
“Now, I finally feel proud of who I am. … Seeing different places, restaurants, stores, people, all these different posts on social media, it makes me feel more comfortable and welcome as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. I actually do have allies. People are going the extra mile to be that ally and celebrate me being open about my sexuality,” she said.
This year, Ginther plans to attend virtual Seattle Pride to celebrate and recognize that part of herself: “Comfortable and proud of who I am.”
“What matters the most is feeling like not so much of an outcast … not so different. Feeling like I could be honest with all my friends and family, and most of all myself, is the best feeling in the world, and Pride is all about celebrating that,” Ginther said. “We’re celebrating each other … but most of all ourselves.”
Historically, the workplace has not been equitable for all employees. As a gay man with a long history in the corporate benefits space, I can corroborate this truth firsthand.
In the past few years, companies across industries have made tremendous strides in their commitments to making the workplace a safer and more empowering place for everyone. The impact has been incredible, but true equality can’t be reached until all groups feel supported. Having an inclusive family building benefit can make all the difference. The reality is, we need support from a benefit to build our families.
I entered adulthood in an era that seems very different from the one we live in now. The height of the AIDS epidemic and prejudice against the LGBTQ community created an environment where I didn’t feel comfortable coming out in my professional life.
Yet as my career progressed in the coming decades, I saw the world change. A remarkable generation of millennials joined the workforce, and employers became more open-minded and supportive of all people. As a gay man from a previous generation, I witnessed how truly agnostic a whole generation and, thus, society had become. I was finally comfortable enough to share my personal life with supervisors and colleagues. I felt hopeful that for the first time, things that were not historically available to the LGBTQ workforce — things like inclusive family building benefits — were on the horizon.
Five years ago, I learned of Progyny and its mission to make it possible for every person who wanted to become a parent to do so.
Fundamentally, this company was about identifying the cracks in the system and ushering in a new one where all people, regardless of who they were and who they loved, had the same access to family building treatment and care. In the first 10 minutes of interviewing at Progyny, I was asked if my values align with their mission of supporting all paths to parenthood, including same-sex family building and single parents by choice. At that moment I knew I was in the right place. I had witnessed change before, but now I was part of it.
As the world continues to evolve and companies grow hungrier to provide equity for their LGBTQ population, it’s vital to assess the status quo, make needed changes, and create an environment defined by diversity, support, and celebration.
We connected with some Progyny clients to uncover the top five reasons why companies should offer more inclusive benefits and how to support a diverse workforce:
Re-examine how old policies no longer serve a new world Insurance carriers don’t set out to create discriminatory policies. HR leaders don’t intend to limit their LGBTQ employees’ access to care. But inherently, traditional fertility benefits do so.
Often, fertility benefits offered by traditional carriers require a diagnosis of infertility to access care. Same-sex couples don’t have an infertility issue — they have a biology issue; therefore, requiring an infertility diagnosis limits their access to the benefit altogether.
“A major challenge with assisted reproduction is how prohibitively expensive the process can be,” says Carissa Sweigart, the leader of diversity, equity, and inclusion at Boston Beer Company, a Progyny client. “To show appreciation for their LGBTQIA coworkers, companies should look at their current fertility benefits from perspectives in addition to ‘medical issues’ causing infertility problems and be more inclusive based on other ways people build a family, whether through IVF, surrogacy, or adoption.”
Continue to innovate and expand offerings The workplace, technology, and the world are constantly changing, and we need to continually adapt with it. The key to being on the cutting edge of new, inclusive policies is keeping an ear to the ground and re-evaluating areas for enhancement.
“Planning any enhancements to a benefits program requires human resources professionals to have a thorough understanding of market trends, industry peers’ programs, innovative new product offerings, and the needs and wants of their employee population,” says a spokesperson from Progyny client Genentech.
Everyone’s path to parenthood is different, so be sure to assess all the services out there. A truly inclusive benefit includes coverage for services such as purchasing donor egg or sperm, genetic testing on embryos , and surrogacy or adoption reimbursement.
Beyond fertility benefits, it’s important to look at the benefit offerings holistically.
“Every day, we think about how we can better provide inclusive and equitable policies and programs for our LGBT coworkers, and amplify the community through partnerships and our actions, including using our powerful company and brand platforms,” Sweigart adds. “We want to hold ourselves accountable as an equitable employer and support the broader LGBTQ community.”
Invest in people, not employees Employees are real people who live multi-dimensional lives. So, to ensure mental health, productivity and company loyalty, employers are providing more hands-on support and resources for the things their workforce values outside of the office.
“Offering employees fertility and family planning benefits is the right thing to do,” the Genentech spokesperson says. “We believe that discovering and developing medicines for some of the world’s most serious diseases requires a diverse mix of the best and brightest people. Providing employees with a comprehensive, competitive, and progressive benefits program helps us attract and retain the most talented professionals in our industry.”
A diverse workforce starts with a diverse leadership Forward-thinking leaders lead to forward-thinking organizations. When companies across industries prioritize diversity and inclusion initiatives, leadership can’t be homogeneous.
Too often, historically marginalized people don’t have a seat at the leadership table. Without an array of input that reflects the fundamental interests of a diverse employee group, it’s harder for companies to progress. The greater the pipeline of opportunity, the greater an organization becomes.
Provide support and encourage communication Often, HR leaders are unaware of how essential fertility and family building benefits are to their employees. However, a simple conversation may shift perspectives and bring forth a more inclusive offering.
“The best recommendation we can give to other HR leaders would be to listen to your coworkers and find out what is most meaningful to them,” says Sweigart. “We have a culture where our coworkers are extremely comfortable raising areas where we can do better and challenge the status quo. We heard stories of frustration and disappointment with infertility that made us initially want to search for something better, but we were amazed and overwhelmed by so many others that were struggling as well in silence.”
It’s imperative for other leaders and management teams to listen to their workforce. Hear from them on what’s important, what they need to in order to thrive, and what makes them happy.
It’s 95 degrees in the Florida sun. My partner, Sam, is driving. I’m in the passenger seat of the truck, squinting against the sun. I’m anxious, looking out the rearview mirror. The rear bumper is dangerously close to a palm tree thicker than I am. We’re sweating, but not from the heat.
Hitched to the truck is our 30-foot travel trailer, weighing in at about 7,000 pounds. We’re backing up the trailer ― blind because our rearview camera is busted ― into the world’s tiniest campground spot. It’s like fitting a baseball bat through the head of a needle.
“Go slower.”
“If I go any slower we’ll get stuck on that rut.”
“Slower. You’re gonna hit that tree.”
“I know about the tree!”
Sensing the tension, an older butch lesbian approaches and waves us down. Recognition passes between us: family. She offers the kind of help that only comes from a decade of RV experience. Speaking through the rolled-down window and miming how to turn the wheel, the woman guides us into the spot.
“You staying for lesbian weekend?” she says, “Good.”
So if you know queer people, you know the beating heart of many communities is the pursuit of a safe home ― one you don’t have to be closeted in, can’t be kicked out of, or disowned in.
My early 20s saw a lot of bouncing around dorm rooms, my girlfriends’, my friends’, my parents’, my girlfriends’ parents, and hotel rooms paid for through work. After the quarantine hit, a housemate left the country and my rented house flooded out completely. Standing in a soaking wet kitchen, I finally asked myself: If my life is so unsteady, why not just embrace it?
If stability represents everything capitalism tells us to want ― nuclear families, the rush for a cutthroat career, heterosexuality ― I want to be as unsteady as possible.
Sam, my partner, was a seasoned road warrior, having traveled the U.S. and the world extensively.
“It won’t be like a vacation. It’ll be our lives, just in 270 square feet,” she reminded me.
We were sitting on the coach, peering into the kitchen. Water was gurgling up from under the wood floors. Our cats pawed at the puddles.
“Let’s do it.”
It takes a particular kind of irreverence (and magic) to give away all your things, change careers, and settle into what is essentially a tin can on wheels. We leaned on our queer family and got in touch with an artist on 5 acres of gorgeous, undeveloped land.
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The day to day of RV living requires a lot of organization and cooperation. Unlike in a typical home, our freshwater, electricity and toilet capacity is limited while we travel (unless we pay to hook up to a power supply, sewer line and water source at an RV park or campground).
The biggest surprise was how cold the RV gets. During the winter, which in north Florida can drop to the 30s at night and 40s during the day, we blasted the propane heat. But RVs have no insulation, which meant we layered up with sweaters, socks and multiple comforters, and still bought 40 gallon propane tanks on an almost weekly basis.
Our first night on the land was during a January cold spell. We built a huge fire. The feeling of the wide-open sky, the warm, red glow on my cheeks, new friends, and the chilly, dark woods surrounding us was delicious. I realized how hungry I was for this kind of living ― adaptable, itinerant, rowdy, unsteady and refreshingly uncertain. I ate that night whole. It tasted exactly like the best parts of being a lesbian.
Photo Courtesy of Sara Youngblood Gregory
RV living, “digital nomading,” and #VanLife are increasingly popular these days. But I resist my life being neatly tucked into pearly Instagram posts or a hashtag. To me, Van Life means glitzy hetero couples going on temporary adventures and getting some cute pics. My version is more rugged, more urgent. My version looks like a commitment to queer home and community.
Queer people, especially lesbians during the Land Dyke movementof the 1960s and ’70s, have always looked for ways to live affordably, safely and in community. To hit the road, sleep in the same bed as my partner, and cohabitate with my lesbian partner are wild blessings from those who came before me. In some small way, I see myself as part of their legacy.
Fast forward seven months, and Sam and I are finished setting up the RV. The AC is blasting, the fridge is humming, the water is hooked up, and the cats are sleeping in the corner. This spot is a rarity ― Sawmill is one of the only gay campgrounds in the country. Sawmill mostly caters to gay and bisexual men and features a lax policy on nudity, a pool, and on-site bars and drag performances.
Once a year is the Women’s Weekend, which is why Sam and I booked the very tight, back-in only RV spot. There are visibly gay people everywhere ― chatting, flirting, swimming, living. No one is shy or embarrassed or closed off. No one is ogling Sam and I as they do at straight-dominated campgrounds. We’re all just here. Together.
Our friends and chosen family, partially drawn by the novelty and excitement of a gay-only outdoor space, and partly to send Sam and me off, are coming in from all over the state. It’s a goodbye tour of sorts, as we’re leaving to start a cross-country road trip. We have no plan, no agenda and no time frame. As our friends come by, so does the butch who rescued us earlier. I smile and look around.
We welcome each person into our home, which is exactly as messy, transitory and safe as we need it to be.
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June in Seattle is habitually accompanied by the colors of the rainbow adorning street corners and the windows of restaurants, cafes and stores, and many activities celebrating Pride. This year, Seattle Pride, which in recent years has been the main Pride event in the city, will once again be virtual, taking place with performances, panels and more June 26-27. Other Pride events, organized by a range of organizations, take place throughout the month.
But just because some Pride events in Seattle will be virtual doesn’t make Pride any less meaningful. Here, longtime members of the LGBTQ+ community (LGBTQ+ stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer/questioning, with the + denoting everything along the gender and sexuality spectrum) reflect on the memories of past Pride events and how the month has metamorphosed into modern Pride, while newer members of the community share how Seattle Pride has helped them feel seen, accepted, proud.
Lamar Van Dyke and Rita Smith
Lamar Van Dyke’s first Seattle Pride was in 1980, and she went on to emcee the Dyke March for 20 years. She also ran Dykes on Bikes, who circumnavigate Pride parades on their motorcycles, ensuring the marches reach their destinations. “We would make our way up Broadway making these big loops,” said Van Dyke, 74. “Waving to people and acting crazy and having fun.”
Seattle Pride (and the celebration of Pride in general) has always been a day where, in Van Dyke’s words, one could say a particular four-letter expletive to everything, “and be as gay as you wanted and go to the parade.”
The first Seattle Pride that Rita Smith, 77, attended was in 1978, when she recalls the parade coming to a joyous end in Pioneer Square. Over the years, she has watched the procession wind from Capitol Hill to the skyscrapers of Fourth Avenue downtown. But both Smith and Van Dyke noted the subtle shift in Seattle Pride after it moved from its longtime home on Capitol Hill in 2006.
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“The participation element has become way more accepted and middle of the road. Pride used to be a time to just act up,” said Van Dyke, who plans to attend neighborhood Pride events that she says still have that “just act up” spirit to them.
Smith described the move as being full of irony: As the parade became more mainstream, “which is one of the points of being out there, to have the larger community get used to that and accept us and embrace us,” one cannot ignore the carnival-like sense many Pride celebrations now encompass, she said. “In the early days when we marched on Capitol Hill, it was definitely about stepping out. It has evolved now to a place that I think is a good sign in terms of our being more a part of the mainstream — lots of big business want to get involved after all — but it also feels like it compromises some things.”
While much has changed since the processions of the past, one thing remains constant: the purpose of Pride. Although this year’s Seattle Pride will not be in-person, “it still has tremendous meaning for people who are new to the community for whom it’s achieving what it once achieved for me,” Smith reflected.
Smith has been out for nearly 50 years — yet she is still seen as “less than and perverted and sinful” by people in her family and hometown, she said. “I remember in particular, when I went to some of the early marches, seeing PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) was always moving. I usually just cried — I still do — because of the fact that my parents and family are not supportive. It has meant a lot to me to have parents and friends and people support me out in the open,” Smith said.
In the early 1990s, Smith marched in Seattle Pride alongside a young man who needed a marching companion. He was from Leavenworth, a town a few miles away from her small Central Washington hometown. “It meant so much because I knew just a bit of what he had gone through in another generation. I was able to be there for him and make that generational connection,” she said.
Smith recalled participating in the massive 1993 March on Washington for Lesbian, Gay, and Bi Equal Rights and Liberation, and realizing the subways of Washington, D.C., were filled with members of the LGBTQ+ community. “That feeling of validation — of ‘I’m not alone’ — I think that’s a big part of what Pride events accomplish.”
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Nicole Perry
For Nicole Perry, 32, community is something she found shortly after arriving in Washington state in 2017. She made connections with a group of people, including those older than herself, whom she now regards as family.
The connections between old and new are threads that help keep the seams of the LGBTQ+ community together.
Before moving to Tacoma from Dallas, Perry described her perception of the LGBTQ+ community as: “Focusing on the ‘L’ and the ‘G,’ and although the ‘T’ is part of the community, people didn’t focus on that or talk about it a whole lot either.” Before attending Seattle Pride in 2018, Perry only felt seen as a transgender woman “in limited spaces.”
In Seattle, “anyone and everyone can come out,” she said, highlighted by the fact that within her first year of living in Seattle, Perry led two parades, one of them Trans Pride Seattle.
Perry looks forward to attending Seattle Pride this year. “Even if it’s a virtual Pride, just holding the event shows those in our community that even though the pandemic is happening right now, we still want to bring the community together.”
And, she added, Pride is an opportunity for her to “celebrate the parts of me that otherwise get forgotten about … and also the parts that some people choose to ignore.”
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De Aunt’e Damper
Growing up, De Aunt’e Damper, 36, felt lost. “I could be Black in the Rainier Beach area because my culture and people were there. Then I could go to places like Capitol Hill, and it affirms with the LGBTQIA community, but nothing culturally. So the questions I asked growing up was, ‘Where do you fit? Where can you be seen at? Where can all of you be accepted?’ “
After Damper became the first LGBTQ chair of the Seattle King County chapter of the NAACP, he persuaded the organization to participate in Seattle Pride for the first time two years ago — an experience that “meant everything,” Damper said.
“I had elders who were learning to affirm for the first time, who participated in Pride for the first time,” he said. “I was able to walk with people in my LGBTQIA community who participated in Pride for the very first time in their 30 or so years. And for the first time, I felt seen in my Blackness and in my queerness. There was a lot of tear shedding at that space because I think that sometimes I’ve never felt seen. Participating in that event … it was all of me. All my Blackness, all my queerness, in one space.”
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Damper says he’s thankful for Seattle Pride’s resilience. “We have a lot of LGBTQIA community members that may be living with a health disparity, so being social in this virtual space, we’re looking out for our brothers and sisters and nonbinary folks,” he said. “There’s been so many Pride events that have decided to cancel because they couldn’t be virtual. But community is when you reach … and community reaches back.”
Mary Ginther
Mary Ginther, 21, who grew up Catholic in Sammamish, said she didn’t know much about the gay community. “But I knew I was attracted to women.”
Ginther’s first Seattle Pride was in 2017, although she did not yet publicly recognize herself within the kaleidoscopic Pride flag. Before coming out, she remembers thinking of her sexuality as “just a little footnote of who I am as a person.”
“I was just scared to come out. I didn’t feel super proud or secure in my sexuality and who I was,” Ginther said, especially because she was in an environment where people around her would “use slurs or make gay jokes. Even some of my close friends made jokes like, ‘That’s so gay.’ “
“Now, I finally feel proud of who I am. … Seeing different places, restaurants, stores, people, all these different posts on social media, it makes me feel more comfortable and welcome as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. I actually do have allies. People are going the extra mile to be that ally and celebrate me being open about my sexuality,” she said.
This year, Ginther plans to attend virtual Seattle Pride to celebrate and recognize that part of herself: “Comfortable and proud of who I am.”
“What matters the most is feeling like not so much of an outcast … not so different. Feeling like I could be honest with all my friends and family, and most of all myself, is the best feeling in the world, and Pride is all about celebrating that,” Ginther said. “We’re celebrating each other … but most of all ourselves.”
University of Michigan Press; Available at www.press.umich.edu
“The sun is nice but it lights things up so much that you can’t see very far… The nighttime is better. It stretches your soul right out to the stars. And that is a very long way… It’s like your ears. In the daytime it’s so noisy you can’t hear. In the nighttime you can,” says four-year-old Anna to 19-year-old Fynn in Mister God, This is Anna (1974) by Sydney Hopkins.
I discovered the story of their unusual friendship in my early twenties. It made an impact so deep that I felt a need to preserve some of its words in my journal. They leapt out at me while I was reading Kareem Khubchandani’s book Ishtyle: Accenting Gay Indian Nightlife, which documents the pleasures and perils of being ‘out’ at night in Bangalore and Chicago.
Khubchandani’s use of the word ishtyle is a playful ‘accenting’ of the English word ‘style’. He became familiar with this usage while growing up as a diasporic Sindhi, born in Gibraltar and raised in Ghana, soaking up ‘Indianness’ through Hindi films. In his childhood lexicon, ishtyle stood for aspiration and excess: jeans that were too tight, dance moves that were too filmi, clothes that were too blingy.
While Khubchandani draws on these memories, he does not dismiss ishtyle as “failure or imperfect performance.” He views it as “a reparative project” that employs humour to expose snobbery and push back against hegemonic ideas about desirability. In recognizing the labour involved in producing and performing ishtyle, he celebrates the spirit of those who dance “to escape the quotidian exhaustion that systemic conditions produce.”
The author is not a professional voyeur, peeking in with a heteronormative gaze just because queerness now seems cool and marketable. The knowledge he generates is possible only because of his unique vantage point as a performance studies scholar, a drag queen, and a transnational desi. The interest in outliers comes from being one of them: a fellow citizen of the night, shunning respectability, seeking pleasure.
Khubchandani is the Mellon Bridge Assistant Professor in the Department of Drama and Dance and the Program in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Tufts University in the United States. He writes, “Drawing on the work of Black, feminist, and queer researchers, I embrace and honour ethnography as a means of uplifting minoritarian ways of knowing. Describing how I approached and was encountered in the field, I mobilize reflexivity to resist colonial and patriarchal tendencies to efface the (presumably objective) researcher.”
He speaks of the gay men he meets from a place of “critical generosity.” They are not merely subjects to be studied. Many of them are friends, acquaintances, community members and love interests. There is a relationship of care. His approach towards them is reminiscent of Naisargi Dave’s book Queer Activism in India (2012). Like Khubchandani, Dave does not pretend that she is a fly on the wall. She acknowledges her emotional investments and entanglements.
The author brings to this book his experience of studying in the US and teaching there, organizing Bollywood nights in Chicago to raise funds for a queer support group, and partying in Bangalore as part of his fieldwork. He is able to draw insightful connections between the information technology boom in India, and the hostility towards immigrants in the US. His research is an attempt to show that these people have lives beyond the day jobs that treat them merely as cogs in the capitalist machine.
Kareem Khubchandani (Courtesy the author)
Many IT professionals in Bangalore are migrants whose work gives them an opportunity to stay away from family and explore their sexuality. Even those who are not out to their colleagues use location-based networking apps to find friends on tech campuses to eat lunch with, rent apartments together, and go to parties with. “While mingling at parties, I’ve listened as men asked new acquaintances about job opportunities at their companies,” writes Khubchandani.
Similarly, in Chicago, when queer desi men congregate at nightclubs, they are often looking to make social connections especially if their heterosexual desi colleagues in the US are homophobic and the white gay men they end up meeting are racist. Khubchandani writes about the support queer desis offer one another by “housing recent asylees and local friends displaced from their homes, bringing new and nervous South Asians from across the Midwest they have met online to their first gay bar, opening homes to strangers by hosting potlucks.”
The pages of this book pulsate with joy as they describe ‘LaWhore Vagistan’, the drag persona adopted by Khubchandani. The name is well-chosen. On the one hand, it references his subcontinental pre-Partition heritage that is simultaneously Pakistani and Indian. On the other hand, it unsettles the hypermasculine aesthetic of gay nightclubs that ironically look down upon transfemininity and prohibit cross-dressing even as they play Sridevi and Madhuri Dixit songs.
Though they promote themselves as inclusive, there are party venues that explicitly deny entry to trans women. Khubchandani writes, “Hijras do drag labour for queer India, dancing publicly at marches and performing item numbers at melas and pageants during pride month, reinterpreting film songs for our entertainment and nostalgia, but never at the club.” Citing barriers such as steep cover charges, class privilege, transphobia and casteism, he argues that “some cultural workers are never given the opportunity to participate” in spaces that are meant for profit rather than community building.
The author reveals that, in many of his research interviews with gay men in Bangalore, he observed that their ‘coming out’ stories included clarifying to families and friends, “I am not a hijra.” Is this simply a matter of using the correct vocabulary or relying on the “hypervisibility of poor-class transgender communities to make gayness palatable to middle- and upper-class families?” Khubchandani believes that it is likely to be the latter.
He further investigates the performance of class as social capital through the lens of “olfactory disciplining” that is experienced by Indian IT professionals in the US, and IT professionals in India who work for American companies. Workers are asked to use hair gel instead of hair oil, and deodorant instead of talcum powder. This practice is an extension of English speaking, accent neutralization, personal grooming and soft skills training to make them presentable and palatable according to so-called global standards.
How does the dance floor challenge or reproduce class, caste and racial hierarchies? Why are certain genres of music considered downmarket? What kind of labour are Dalits in Bangalore, and people of colour in Chicago, expected to perform in order to feel welcome, desired or simply not considered as threatening? Who do the cops go after when there is a misunderstanding, a fight, or a crime? Why is the word ‘Indian’ used to subsume Pakistani, Bangladeshi and other South Asian identities? Is it possible to throw politics aside, and simply dance?
These questions are critical for Khubchandani, whose book is an extraordinary labour of love. It would benefit readers interested in topics such as queer migration, moral panic, economic liberalization, class mobility, homonationalism as well as diversity and inclusion in corporate India. More than anything else, it is an archive of rapture and delight in pre-pandemic times. The book comes with a playlist, so sing along, and dance away your heartache.
Chintan Girish Modi is a writer, educator and researcher. He is @chintan_connect on Twitter.
European leaders are in Brussels on Thursday for what is shaping up to be a fiery two-day summit.
It’s the last scheduled heads of state gathering for outgoing Germany Chancellor Angela Merkel, who steps down in September after 16 years at the helm of Europe’s largest economy.
But the fireworks look to be reserved for Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orban.
Western member states are outraged over a new bill they say represses LGBT rights in the country and goes against European values.
There is also the contentious issue of sending billions of dollars to Turkey to keep refugees from reaching Europe. And many governments are angered by Germany and France’s last-minute shock proposal to invite Russia’s President Vladimir Putin to a summit. We have all the issues broken down below.
Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban arrives at the EU Council building. / Reuters
Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban arrives at the EU Council building. / Reuters
LGBT on the menu
It’s not on the official schedule, but LGBT rights threaten to overshadow a summit that was meant to focus on Russia and Turkey.
Many heads of state are outraged over a new bill in Hungary that bans portrayals of homosexuality or of transgender people in content shown to those aged under 18. And they plan to vent their frustration to Oban during a working dinner on Thursday night.
Many got off to an early start. Leaders of 16 countries published a joint letter ahead of the summit pledging to “continue fighting against discrimination towards the LGBT community,” a day after Brussels threatened legal action if Budapest doesn’t walk back the bill.
While the letter does not explicitly mention Hungary, it warns of “threats against fundamental rights and in particular the principle of non-discrimination on grounds of sexual orientation.”
Expect Orban to hit back. His government fired off a terse statement on Wednesday after European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen called the bill “a shame.” The four-sentence comeback called her comments “a shame” three times and insisted the bill was not discriminatory because it only applied to minors.
What will be discussed about Russia?
Russia will be a main topic of discussion, especially after Germany and France blindsided their EU allies by suggesting the bloc should resume summits with Russia’s President Vladimir Putin.
There hasn’t been such a gathering since the Crimea crisis in 2014, but Berlin and Paris see an opening after U.S. President Joe Biden met with Putin in Geneva last week.
But it’s not exactly a detente. Merkel and Marcon’s proposal also raises the threat of new economic sanctions.
This issue could drive a wedge between West and East, with the Baltic bloc, which has long pushed for a tougher approach to Moscow, particularly angered.
EU foreign policy chief Josep Borrell warned last week that relations with Russia face a “further downturn, despite already being at their lowest level.”
And Turkey?
Turkey is another main topic on the two-day agenda. Tensions have eased since last year, when leaders threatened a barrage of punitive measures over Ankara’s aggression in the Eastern Mediterranean.
This time around, EU leaders are expected to sign off on a $4.1 billion aid package for Turkey, which is meant to help keep refugees from reaching Europe.
This is on top of the $4.8 billion Ankara has already received. The extra support could incentive Turkey’s President Recep Tayyip Erdogan to step up efforts to tackle the long-running disputes with Greece and Cyprus. Leaders will also discuss modernizing the EU-Turkey Customs Union.
What will leaders have to say about COVID-19?
Leaders are expected to welcome a drop in infections across the bloc and a pick-up in vaccinations. They will also reaffirm their support for the free movement of people around the bloc, which should get easier to pull off come July 1 when the new COVID-19 Certificates officially launch.
Germany’s Merkel could ruffle a few feathers though, after she said all travelers from the UK should be quarantined when they arrive in the EU.
Some members have granted quarantine-free entry to British travelers. But with new warnings that the Delta variant could be the dominant strain in Europe by the end of August, Merkel doesn’t want to take any chances.
People who are gay, bisexual, or transgender with Parkinson’s disease or other movement disorders can be reluctant to disclose their sexual or gender identities for fear of being denied treatment or enrollment in clinical trials, a study found.
Research is limited into this growing patient group, and best practice guidelines are lacking, despite an awareness of differences in disease risk factors, including the use of gender-affirming hormones that could affect both motor and non-motor symptoms, its researchers wrote.
“There is a disparity in care among those in the sexual and gender minorities,” Chi-Ying Roy Lin, MD, a neurologist at Baylor College of Medicine, a Parkinson’s Foundation Center of Excellence, said in a release published by the foundation. “I have had patients who are reluctant to reveal their identity because of fear they will get denied healthcare.”
Most medical research addressing sexual or gender identity and movement disorders takes place in the context of infection with the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV). Studies into Parkinson’s or parkinsonism within this group are few, leaving many clinical and epidemiological research questions unanswered for “a community whose patient population is on the rise,” the researchers noted.
“Movement disorders is one of the least researched areas in the LGBTQ+ neuroscience field,” Lin said.
While a person’s biological sex is assigned before birth — male or female — gender identity can change. Gender refers to a person’s social identity as male, female, transgender, or non-binary.
The goal of the study, conducted with colleagues at the University of California San Francisco and the University of Massachusetts Memorial Medical Center, was to highlight the most urgent issues related to LGBTQ people with Parkinson’s and other movement disorders.
First, most medical records list male or female sex, but not gender identity, which “continues to limit our research,” Lin said. Knowing if a Parkinson’s patient identifies as LGBTQ could help professionals in better treating movement and mood disorders.
Parkinson’s is characterized by the loss of nerve cells that control body movement. This can lead to motor difficulties as well as sleep problems, cognitive issues, slurred speech, and mood disorders such as anxiety and depression. Patients, as a result, often experience higher rates of social isolation.
Social isolation is also known to be more common among members of the LGBTQ community than the public at large. A sense of isolation can be greater in a person who is LGBTQ with Parkinson’s for this reason, worsening non-motor symptoms such as mood disorders.
Gender-affirming hormones, such as testosterone and estrogen, are also prescribed to help match a transgender person’s body with their identity. While studies suggest testosterone does not affect Parkinson’s symptoms, the influence of estrogen on Parkinson’s is inconclusive. Some studies show protective benefits in terms of an easing of certain symptoms. Others report more motor fluctuations in women with Parkinson’s than men, raising questions about estrogen as potentially protective.
“It is possible that trans women with Parkinson’s who take estrogen may see better or worse motor symptoms, which requires future research to tell us,” Lin said. “This is particularly important, as counseling about the stopping or altering of gender-affirming hormone for a transgender person, if necessary, is drastically different from that for postmenopausal or contraception purpose, considering the medical necessity of gender-affirming hormone to maintain mental health and life quality.”
Additionally, many people in a same-sex marriage or who identify as transgender are not comfortable speaking to their doctor about sexual or gender identity due to ongoing LGBTQ stigma and discrimination.
“We need to create a safe environment in healthcare institutions to disclose sexual orientation and gender identity to better impact care and access to resources,” the researchers wrote.
Older adults within the LGBTQ community can be especially vulnerable. “It is not uncommon to see higher rates of violence or verbal abuse in nursing homes aimed at LGBTQ residents,” Lin said.
To date, there are no established guidelines for LGBTQ patient care for use by Parkinson’s-related multidisciplinary healthcare teams or treatment facilities, the study noted. Greater advocacy and policies are needed to address the care difficulties experienced by members of this community, and to improve treatment and care for those with Parkinson’s.
“There are currently no guidelines at national or state level to help provide better care for the LGBTQ+ community,” Lin said. “There is a critical need for literature and best practices.”
Guideline recommendations included educating healthcare workers about LGBTQ-related terminology, providing lists of LGBTQ-friendly providers, and establishing approaches that help encourage LGBTQ members to speak more comfortably with their doctors and nurses. Lin and his colleagues also noted that more inclusive support groups are needed within organizations and institutions.
When asked what advice he had for the LGBTQ Parkinson’s community, he said, “Do not be afraid to reveal your identity and community. I feel people in the medical community are relatively open-minded.
“If you are uncomfortable with your current specialist, reach out to other providers who may be able to give LGBTQ+ customized care,” added Lin. “Telemedicine allows most people to find the right provider now. Also, try to be active in participating in clinical research and trials. Don’t be afraid to reveal who you are.”
Charkira McCall recites a poem during poetry night, where many people use the platform to express their frustrations with issues ranging from social justice and equality to past relationships, at Blush & Blu on June 9., 2021 (Kevin Mohatt, Special to the Denver Post)
When Jody Bouffard was first getting into the bar business, there were multiple lesbian-focused hotspots in town. In fact, she worked at several — mopping the dance floor at The Elle, bartending and DJing at Zu — while attending pharmacy school in the late 1990s.
Bouffard caught the hospitality bug and changed her career path, founding several lesbian bars of her own. But while others succumbed to economic forces over the years, Bouffard’s East Colfax hangout Blush & Blu, which opened in 2012, remained. Today, it is one of just 21 lesbian bars in America, according to the Lesbian Bar Project, a fundraising initiative to help save the bars that remain open.
When these community spaces disappear, the implications go beyond simply the bar itself, said Bouffard.
“A lot of people don’t have family because they’re rejected by their family. So coming into a queer space like I have and the ones that are remaining, you find your new family there,” she said. “There’s so much more to running that bar than having 10 employees and customers coming through. These customers become family members.”
Erica Rose, co-creator of the Lesbian Bar Project, sees spaces that cater to women, non-binary and transgender people as essential. Gay bars are often designed specifically for cis, white men, she said, and when that’s also the lens through which much of LGBTQ+ culture and politics is filtered, there’s a need for concepts that offer something different.
“The majority of queer people are women, and we have often been sidelined and not taken as seriously as men,” Rose said, “so it’s important we have our space to really have intergenerational dialogue, to have power, to have community and not necessarily be at the mercy of space that isn’t designed for us.”
That is why last year, Rose and co-creator Elina Street launched the Lesbian Bar Project, a fundraiser and documentary project to tell the stories behind these institutions. The initiative raised $117,000 in 2020, meaning each lesbian bar received more than $7,000 to help ease the impact of the pandemic, Rose said.
Jody Bouffard is the owner of Blush & Blu, one of only 21 remaining lesbian bars in the U.S. (Photo by Kevin Mohatt/Special to the Denver Post)
For Blush & Blu, it made all the difference. After Gov. Jared Polis enacted a stay-at-home order in March 2020, Bouffard cashed out her 401K and received some loans to keep the bar afloat. When Blush & Blu reopened three months later, she had reconfigured the seating to meet capacity limits and fired up the small kitchen onsite to provide patrons with food.
“I wasn’t expecting the second shutdown in November during holiday season and that’s when I thought, honestly, I was going to have to close my doors,” Bouffard said.
Funds from the Lesbian Bar Project literally saved her business, helping cover rent and bills while operations remained at the whim of government and state health officials. Blush & Blu emerged from the thick of the pandemic ready to bounce back. It now hosts weekly poetry slams and stand-up comedy, and with the nearby gay bars Tight End and Charlie’s plus the LGBT-focused Center on Colfax, Bouffard sees East Colfax as Denver’s burgeoning gay district.
“Queer people and gay people and everyone in the alphabet mafia need to come out right now to keep these safe spaces open,” Bouffard.
What better time than during Pride? Blush & Blu will be hosting several special events this weekend, including a broadcast of the virtual Pride Parade, as will other venues in the area. See our top picks for Pride events happening June 25-27.
PANAMA CITY BEACH — Pride Month comes to a close locally with a series of weekend events, starting with the Pride Beach Party from noon to 5 p.m. on Saturday.
All ages are welcome to the family-friendly event on the shore by Rick Seltzer Park, 7419 Thomas Drive, Panama City Beach. Activities will feature games and free giveaways. Bottled water and sodas will be provided for free by Splash Bar.
Participants are encouraged to arrive early for the best parking and the best spots on the sand. For more details, visit SplashBarFlorida.com, follow Splash Bar Florida on Facebook, or call 850-236-3450.
Much social progress has been made during the half-century since the Stonewall Riots, which took place in 1969 in the streets of New York City’s Greenwich Village. That event marked the start of the modern “gay rights” movement, according to Cindy Wilker, speaking for the LGBTQ Center of Bay County before the 2019 Bay Pride Festival.
“Although a great deal of progress has been made, there is still much to do. This is also poignant in regard to our own organization,” Wilker said. “We are just over one year old as an organization. It’s incredible to think about what we’ve been able to achieve with community, business and local government support in such a short period of time — especially after the devastation from Hurricane Michael.”
Closing party promises to be a drag
The Pride 2021 Closing Party — aka “The Main Event” — will be from 8 p.m. Saturday to 4 a.m. Sunday at Splash Bar, 6520 Thomas Drive, Panama City Beach. Featured performers will include “RuPaul’s Drag Race” All Stars Morgan McMichaels and Bebe Zahara Benet, as seen on VH1 and Paramount+.
Morgan McMichaels is the stage name of Thomas White. A local fixture in Southern California’s drag circuit, White became a reality television personality when he joined the cast of Season 2 of “RuPaul’s Drag Race.”
BeBe Zahara Benet is the drag name of Nea Marshall Kudi Ngwa, a performer, former male model, Season 1 winner of “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” and one of the contestants of All Stars 3. Born in Cameroon, she moved to the United States in her teens.
Celebrating its 21st year in business, Splash Bar has become a mainstay of Las Vegas style entertainment and is known for shows featuring MTV celebrities and VH1 superstars. The Main Event is sponsored by Panama City Beach Pride Events and Splash Bar Florida, with Pride swag provided by The Pernod Ricard Co. with Absolut and Malibu brands.
Also performing will be local drag stars Envy DuVall, China Moon and Valkyrie Valhalla. Music will be provided by special guest DJ KRUSH. Patrons must be 18 to enter and 21 to drink. Showtimes will be at midnight and 2 a.m. For more details, visit SplashBarFlorida.com or call 850-236-3450
“These entertainers are at the top of their game,” organizers said in a social media post. “Every year, this event grows to capacity, so come out early and grab the best parking and best seats”
Outside from 8 to 10 p.m., vocalist Ivy Hunter will be singing favorite pop and country songs on the main stage.
Tickets are available via Eventbrite.com, with tickets provided for free to anyone with a Bay County-issued I.D. (Select the “Free Local” ticket option on Eventbrite.com.) Underage guests (those age 18-20) should select the “Underage” ticket to gain entry to this event.
General admission tickets for those without a local I.D. are $15; VIP tickets are $25; and tickets for non-Bay County residents who are underage will be $20.
Note: SplashBar will also host a Queen of Pride competition Friday, June 25, with showtimes at midnight and 2 a.m. Saturday.
Grab brunch, then ‘Gay the Hathaway’
House of Henry in downtown Panama City will host a “Drag Me To Brunch” event from noon to 3 p.m. Sunday, June 27. With a theme of “Pride in the Name of Love,” the event will feature live drag shows, vocalists and a comedy emcee, according to online posts.
House of Henry, an authentic Irish pub and eatery, is located at 461 Harrison Ave. in Panama City. Tickets for “Drag Me To Brunch” can be booked at Eventbrite.com, with General Admission $10 each, or $15 for couples.
Afterward, the LGBTQ Center of Bay County Inc., the LEAD Coalition and Bay County Black Voters Matter are co-hosting the annual “Gay The Hathaway” from 4-7 p.m. on Sunday. The three-hour event is free and open to the public.
Participants are encouraged to park at Carl Gray Park, located by Gulf Coast State College and walk together to take up positions in the pedestrian path along the Hathaway Bridge.
“It’s that time of year again to ‘Gay the Hathaway,’ where we span the bridge and turn it into our very own rainbow,” organizers said in an event announcement. “When we, the marginalized and minority communities, often have small voices come together in the world around us, we come together armed in numbers with our presence, fortitude and most importantly our voices, we demand to be seen, to be brave and to be heard.”
Participants may bring signs, flags and “put on your best Pride armor” — and wear comfortable shoes, organizers said: “When the cars come over that bridge, we want them to think they’re driving over the rainbow and we’ll be right there to greet them. We’ll speak our message but do it with love as we wave at them and thumbs-up their honks of support.”
Providing special events for the community at large is one tool that the LGBTQ Center, a 501(c)3 organization, uses to build a stronger and more inclusive community across the Panhandle. For more information, visit LGBTQCenterOfBayCounty.org or follow the organization on social media.
PRIDE MONTH CLOSING EVENTS
Friday: Queen of Pride competition at SplashBar
Saturday: Beach Party from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. at Rick Seltzer Park; Main Event at SplashBar from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m.
Sunday: Drag me to Brunch at House of Henry from noon to 3 p.m.; Gay the Hathaway march from 4-7 p.m.
More than 1 million adults in the U.S. identify as nonbinary, according to a groundbreaking new study published Tuesday by the Williams Institute at UCLA School of Law, the nation’s leading research center on sexual orientation and gender identity law and public policy.
Analyzing data on characteristics and demographics of LGBTQ adults in the U.S., the study, entitled “Nonbinary LGBTQ Adults in the United States,” found that around 11 percent of them do not fall into a binary definition of gender — that’s approximately 1.2 million people whose gender falls somewhere in between male and female, or somewhere completely different.
According to the study, the majority of nonbinary people are under the age of 29, urban and white.
“Nonbinary people make up a substantial part of the LGBTQ community, and they appear to experience similar kinds of vulnerabilities seen in the larger LGBTQ population,” Bianca D.M. Wilson, senior scholar of public policy at the Williams Institute,” said in a statement.
“More research is needed to understand whether there are unique needs among cisgender and transgender nonbinary people compared to each other and to their binary-identified LGBTQ counterparts,” added Wilson, the lead author of the study.
The study used data collected from 2016 to 2018 from two population-based surveys — Generations and TransPop — and looked at characteristics of LGBTQ adults, ages 18-60, who identify as nonbinary.
The Generations study is the first long-term, five-year study to examine the health and well-being across three generations of lesbians, gay men, and bisexuals in the U.S., while the TransPop study is a first-of-its-kind survey on the health of the U.S. transgender population.
Researchers with the Williams Institute found that a greater percentage of nonbinary lesbian, gay, bisexual and queer adults are cisgender rather than transgender.
Nearly one-third of transgender adults identify as nonbinary, but many cisgender LGBQ adults also identify as nonbinary: approximately 58 percent of all nonbinary LGBQ adults are cisgender and 42 percent are transgender.
When asked to describe their sexual orientation, the majority of nonbinary adults (31 percent) said they were queer, while 17 percent of them said bisexual, 17 percent said pansexual and 14 percent of them said asexual.
“Identities and terms related to gender and sexuality shift across time,” said study author Ilan H. Meyer.
“Our study found nonbinary adults tend to be younger, but as the use and acceptance of gender nonbinary terms continues to grow, we may see changes in numbers and characteristics of LGBTQ nonbinary people,” added Meyer, who is the institute’s distinguished senior scholar of public policy.
According to GLAAD, “nonbinary” is a term used by people who “experience their gender identity and/or gender expression as falling outside the categories of man and woman.”
The term is slowly becoming more common, as society becomes more inclusive of LGBTQ identities.
Last month, pop superstar Demi Lovato announced that they were nonbinary on an episode of the “4D with Demi Lovato” podcast.
“I feel that this best represents the fluidity I feel in my gender expression and allows me to feel most authentic and true to the person I both know I am, and am still discovering,” they said.
Since the U.S. Census only asks if respondents are “female” or “male,” there’s very little data on adults who don’t identify as either.
Key findings from the study can provide important insight into a group who has been historically overlooked in the U.S.: around 1.2 million adults who reject the binary classification.
“That number says, ‘This is part of who you’re talking about when executive orders are signed to protect people against discrimination,’” study author Wilson told The Washington Post.
Following an evidence review and a public consultation, England’s NCSP is changing to put a greater emphasis on reducing the harm of untreated infections on young women’s reproductive health. The programme will aim to provide treatment more rapidly and expand testing in community settings for sexually active women aged under 25 years.
Until now, the focus has been on increasing chlamydia diagnoses, through asymptomatic screening in young men and women. The changed approach is designed to achieve better long-term health outcomes
The programme will also place more emphasis on reducing reinfections, which are known to increase likelihood of serious consequences, through better notification of sexual partners and retesting following treatment.
Previously, the NCSP’s strategy was to proactively offer all sexually active young adults aged under 25 years chlamydia testing as a routine part of every primary care and sexual health consultation, with the aim of controlling chlamydia in the population through early detection and treatment of asymptomatic infection.
Going forward, chlamydia screening in community settings, such as GP practices and community pharmacies, will only be proactively offered to young women and aim to speed up diagnosis and treatment.
Young men will still be offered a chlamydia test if they have symptoms, if their partner has chlamydia or as part of care offered by specialist sexual health services. Young men can still request a test at a sexual health service.
In 2019, less than 10% of all chlamydia testing in 15 to 24 year olds involved young men outside of sexual health services.
Gay, bisexual and other men who have sex with men, transgender women and non-binary people (assigned male at birth) can continue to access testing as appropriate through specialist sexual health services.
The change comes after a comprehensive review of the programme by an international group of experts in sexually transmitted infection (STI) control, who found that focusing on harm reduction will lead to better health outcomes.
Kate Folkard, Deputy Director for the National Infection Service at Public Health England (PHE) said:
The expert review group has highlighted the need for the National Chlamydia Screening Programme to focus its efforts on reducing harm by improving asymptomatic screening of young women as they are most at risk from ill health and further complications due to untreated chlamydia, particularly to their reproductive health.
The new strategy will maximise the programme’s health benefits, helping reduce complications such as ectopic pregnancy, pelvic inflammatory disease and infertility.
Specialist sexual health services will remain unchanged. Everyone can still get tested if needed and if you have had sex without a condom with new or casual partners you should have an STI check up annually . Many clinics offer STI tests via their website, which are sent in the post to be taken at home.
Dr John McSorley, President of the British Association of Sexual Health and HIV (BASHH) said:
BASHH welcomes the National Chlamydia Screening Programme Expert Review recommendation that future strategy focusses on harm reduction to maximise health outcomes. We recognise the importance of evaluation of all activity and the need to react and respond to that expert analysis of the best available evidence.
It is important to acknowledge that this change in emphasis is designed to increase the amount of testing in the population of young women most at risk of harm from chlamydia infection. We welcome that commitment.
We recognise too, that this change sits amid an overall commitment to support all young people, and the range of primary and specialist sexual health services that exist. Immediately prior to the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, England experienced some of the highest rates of sexually transmitted infections on record, thus it is vital that the sexual health of all of our population continues to be invested in.
Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orban addresses the media as he arrives on the first day of the European Union summit at The European Council Building in Brussels, Belgium June 24, 2021. John Thys/Pool via REUTERS
BRUSSELS, June 24 (Reuters) – Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban defended his country’s law to ban the dissemination of material in schools deemed to promote homosexuality or gender change, and declared himself a fighter for LGBT rights.
“I am a fighter for their rights. I am a freedom fighter in the communist regime. Homosexuality was punished and I fought for their freedom and their rights. So I am defending the rights of the homosexual guys, but this law is not about that,” Orban told reporters on arrival for a meeting of EU leaders, who are expected to raise the law that many EU capitals have criticised.
“It’s not about homosexuals. The law is about to decide what kind of way parents would like to sexually educate the kids, (this) exclusively belonging to the parents. That’s what the law is about,” Orban said, adding he had no plans to repeal it.
Summit chairman Charles Michel said separately in arriving to the talks that the 27 national EU leaders will have a debate about the contentious new Hungarian law on Thursday evening.
Reporting by Philip Blenkinsop and Marine Strauss, Editing by Gabriela Baczynska
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