In 1982, I came out as gay, stepping into a world that felt as if it were designed to silence and erase people like me. It was the era of the Reagan Administration—a time when thousands of gay men were dying of AIDS, and the government’s inaction screamed louder than any words. Back then, we lived by a simple but powerful truth: Silence = Death.
I witnessed history in real-time, often through tears and rage. I saw the Supreme Court uphold sodomy laws in a case where police broke into a home in Georgia and arrested a man for having consensual sex—because love and intimacy between two men were criminalized. I watched as George W. Bush ran his campaign on a promise to enshrine discrimination into the Constitution, advocating for a marriage amendment to restrict unions to heterosexual couples.
And yet, I survived. I more than survived.
I celebrated alongside my LGBTQIA+ family when Ellen DeGeneres came out on national television, a watershed moment for visibility. I cheered as Will & Grace brought queer lives into living rooms across America, along with many other milestones through the years. And in 2015, I wept with joy when the Supreme Court recognized our right to marry, a victory I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. People came all over my city to celebrate that for that time love won.
But even now, as the political landscape shifts, we see that hate and fear remain the tools of those in power. They use these emotions to pit people against one another, to win elections, and to distract us from their failures to care for any of us. Immigrants, LGBTQIA+ people, those with disabilities, and so many others become scapegoats. Policies that save lives—like affordable prescriptions or ALS research—get rolled back, leaving communities to fend for themselves.
To those who didn’t live through the darker days of the 80s and 90s, I understand your fear. The attacks on trans folks, the rollback of hard-fought rights, and the relentless attempts to erase our existence are terrifying. But let me tell you something I’ve learned over the decades: Fear is the currency of the small-minded. Hate keeps the homophobes engaged, but love is what sustains us.
We’ve been here before, and we’ve risen again and again.
I saw lesbians stand by gay men during the AIDS crisis, offering care and love when the rest of the world turned its back. Today, we must do the same for our trans siblings, showing up for them with the same unwavering strength. We must care for ourselves, for one another, and for our communities.
Our survival is our resistance.
Even in the darkest moments, we’ve found ways to love, to laugh, and to build a future. We’ve formed families, celebrated milestones, and held each other up when the weight of the world felt unbearable.
To those feeling scared, know this: You are not alone. We are not alone.
This moment, like all the others, will pass. History is a pendulum, swinging back and forth between progress and regression. It’s exhausting, yes. But with every swing, we grow stronger, wiser, and more determined.
Our best revenge is to live authentically, to love openly, and to form communities that uplift and protect. For those who cannot yet be loud, there are others who will raise their voices for you. We are here, and we will continue to be here.
Love wins because it is relentless. Community endures because it is necessary. And no matter what, we will carry on.
So, live as fully and authentically as you can. Reach out to your community. Build bridges where there are none. And above all, remember: This too will pass. And when it does, we’ll still be here—loving, fighting, and thriving.
