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QUEER AMERICA: LGBT people and communities across the country

QUEER AMERICA: LGBT people and communities across the country

Photo by Evan Semon

Six Stories about America

Photo by Evan Semon/Out Front
Photo by Evan Semon/Out Front
Aida Manduely
Aida Manduely

Aida Manduley – Guaynabo, Puerto Rico to Providence, Rhode Island

Though Aida Manduley grew up in a bustling tourist magnet bordering Puerto Rico’s capital San Juan, she described her childhood tinged with feelings of isolation – forced to keep quite about who she really was.

“Growing up in Puerto Rico, I went to the same private school from pre-K to twelfth grade,” Manduley said. Her house was only a five-minute walk to school. “My world was geographically a little bit more limited I think than for some other people.”

A vacation destination, Manduley’s hometown of Guaynabo features numerous tourist attractions, such as the Caparra Ruins containing the historic remains of the first Capitol of Puerto Rico founded by Juan Ponce de Leon in 1508. Guyanabo and the adjacent capital city have a combined population of more than 450,000 – but despite living in a busy city surrounded by bustling commuters and tourists, Manduley felt alone. Her family studied under Jehovah Witnesses, and she described a caustic environment for anyone struggling with their sexual orientation. “A lot of things were bad and sinful, including any degree of homosexuality. That was definitely part of my upbringing.”

Her mother had her suspicions, finding Manduley’s journal while cleaning her daughter’s room. “It’s kind of hilarious,” Manduley said. “At that point, I was not really enthralled by male anatomy at all. I had drawn a big penis and crossed it out and just wrote ewww.”

Manduley was hesitant to come out to her friends at school, as there was no infrastructure of support for LGBT youth. “No one, I mean no one in high school – no one in my school, period – identified as queer. There was no Gay–Straight Alliance. There was no discussion about sexuality.”

San Juan, Puerto Rico
San Juan, Puerto Rico
Providence, Rhode Island
Providence, Rhode Island

But in her isolation, Manduley found a bastion through online social networks, such as MySpace, where she identified her sexual orientation as “unspecified,” garnering more suspicions from her family. “The first people that I came out to were friends that I had online,” she said. “Those were the people I was talking to about my life, and that’s where I was having deeper conversations.”

Manduley graduated high school in 2007 and left Puerto Rico to attend Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. During her senior year, Manduley’s mother and grandmother flew up to visit. They were sitting in a hotel room when her mother asked if she was queer, the word Manduley used to identify herself. And Manduley finally confirmed her mother’s suspicions. “It was like a really bad coming out movie,” she said.

“My grandmother started to cry. She said she was going to have a heart attack. They kind of started ignoring me in that moment, and they were just talking among themselves that it was the Devil talking. It was a really bad, emotional time, because they were invoking this idea of, it’s not really being me. They started talking about how disappointed they were. How they expected better of me. How I ruined my life. How they couldn’t believe this.” Her parents now avoid the topic.

After graduating Brown with a degree in Gender and Sexuality Studies, Manduley remained in Providence and now works at a domestic violence agency and a sexuality resource center. The contrast between where she lives now and where she grew up is sharp. There are a plethora of resources for LGBT people in Providence, though the whole state isn’t entirely tolerant. “It’s about finding the pockets that will be friendly and most welcoming.”

But Manduley said she sees the beginnings of transformation in Puerto Rico. “In this last election, there were a few parties that came up, some of them riding specifically on feminism and LGBT rights and workers rights. That was their platform entirely. So that I had never seen before. People were sick of the system that was available and started making new strides to change that.”

In May, Puerto Rico’s House of Representatives passed a bill that would protect LGBT individuals from discrimination in the workplace. An additional bill was passed the same month extending protections for same-sex couples regarding gender violence. Both bills are awaiting approval in the Senate.

Manduly is hopeful that the momentum carries forward. “Especially as more people come out, and more people say, hey, I have this gay friend, or I have this trans friend, and they start seeing the humanity in others.”

Andy Le
Andy Le

Andy Le – Seattle, Washington

Andy Le grew up in Mukilteo, a suburb north of Seattle, Washington with a population of about 20,000. “It was pretty terrible,” Le said. “In my point of view, it was like living in a small town. There wasn’t a lot going on, and I didn’t really connect with a lot of people there.”

Mukilteo is an affluent part of Seattle, with a median household income of $93,120, according to the 2010 US Census. “It’s funny, because a lot of the greater Seattle area is more liberal. However, there is some wealth in there, and with that I think comes conservative residences. When Washington was trying to pass Referendum 74, driving through Mukilteo, you would see many signs opposing that.”

In November of last year, Washington voters approved Referendum 74, granting marriage equality to same-sex couples, with 53 .7 percent of Washington voters supporting the measure. And according to a recent Pew Poll, Seattle ranks 6 out of 79 American cities in support for same-sex marriage recognition.

“I think the issue is that with many suburbs it becomes a very heteronormative family community,” Le said. “So, the people there aren’t being exposed to anyone from the LGBT community unless they know a friend or a family member.”

SeattleLe knew early on that he was gay, but struggled in accepting it, keeping it to himself even after graduating high school in 2005. “I think part of it was family. I have a Vietnamese father. And within my Vietnamese family, I’ve heard anti-gay remarks or just things that made me feel like that part of my family didn’t feel it was quote-unquote natural.”

Even after arriving at the University of Colorado, Boulder, a principally liberal and accepting university, Le felt he had to remain in the closet until 2009, four years after he stared college. “When I got to Boulder, I lived with a bunch of roommates who were from Thornton. That actually ended up being a very homophobic environment. So, it wasn’t until after I moved out of there that I came out to people.”

When Le finally did tell his parents, his mother said she had already known. His father at first thought his son was joking. “They know, and they love me,” Le said, “but for some reason we don’t talk about it. My parents don’t really talk about anything.”

Le now lives close to downtown Seattle in a district called Capitol Hill, working in the university district. Similar to Denver’s own Capitol Hill neighborhood, the area has a thriving LGBT presence, hosting its 39th Pride Parade this year coupled with the city’s first ever Trans Pride.

“In almost every single business, restaurant and store, you’ll see signs of friendliness towards the LGBT community. You’ll see patrons who are not afraid to be with their partner. I’m constantly being reminded when my partner touches me, and I kind of move away from a natural reaction, or a social reaction I guess, he reminds me that it’s Seattle and no one cares.”

“I think people are definitely becoming more accepting,” Le said. “You’re always going to have those who don’t agree, but I think the more bills that pass and the increase in supporters are going to allow people to interact more with the community.”

Katie Kiefer – Washington, Missouri

Katie Kiefer is the Communications Organizer for PROMO, Missouri’s leading LGBT advocacy organization working to establish equal rights by educating the public and cultivating legislation to protect the community.

“During high school I had a girlfriend, but I covered it up,” Kiefer said, who grew up in the small town of Washington, Missouri. “I had a boyfriend at the same time. He didn’t know. I did it on purpose so that people wouldn’t think that I was having a relationship with another student who was a girl.”

Washington is a largely German, Catholic town about 50 miles west of St. Louis. Annual festivals fill the streets, including the Main Street BBQ and Bluefest featuring bands such as the Paul Cockrum Trio, the Bag Lunch Blues Band, and the Kingdom Brothers featuring Matt “the Rattlesnake” Lesch on guitar.

Washington, Missouri
Washington, Missouri

“At the time, Washington had a population of about 9,000 or 8,000,” said Kiefer, who attended a private Catholic school her entire life. “I didn’t even know what a homosexual was, which is interesting. Nor did I know what a rainbow flag was. That’s when I for sure thought I was going to hell. I used to go into confessionals, and I wanted to say it, but I’d be afraid to say it out loud.”

There was no GSA, nor was there any sign of support for students who might identify themselves as LGBT. “I think there was one girl that people use to talk about who worked in a music store. People used to say, ‘She likes girls. Stay away from her.’ That was it. There was no talking about it.”

The most significant change came when she left her hometown to attend the University of St. Louis. “It was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. I remember it like yesterday, meeting my first real lesbian friend. I was 19, and I just had no idea of the world that was out there. Gay bars. A gay neighborhood. Totally friendly.”

It was then Kiefer felt comfortable enough to finally come out. She said, “I started to do drag and really understand what gender identity was and really take on that concept and become fully trained and inclusive as a person and understand the whole the community in itself.”

Her family wasn’t as understanding, and she was forced to see a doctor or lose the financial support of her parents. Kiefer’s mother wrongly thought the doctor performed reparative therapy, a controversial therapy that works to change a person’s sexual orientation.

“The doctor asked, what percent sure are you that you’re gay? And I was like, 99.7 percent. And he’s like, what are you doing here? The doctor was actually the best thing for me because he was super supportive, and he was my therapist for eight years after that.”

Reflecting on her childhood, Keifer said biggest challenge for her was religious indoctrination. “I thought something was wrong with me. I think that guilt was the hardest thing in high school.”

Her experiences became the initiative to work at establishing protections for LGBT Missourians, and she is amazed at the progress being made. “I know a lot of people say this. I’m 33, and being out for about fourteen years, I really cannot believe how fast that this has come along.”

PROMO is currently working to establish a statewide initiative that would protect LGBT individuals from discrimination in the workplace and in housing. Only 11 cities in Missouri currently have anti–discrimination protection.

And Kiefer’s own mom has come around. “She might as well be a PFLAG mom,” Kiefer said. “She’s changed a lot. I opened up her eyes. I opened up my grandmother’s eyes. My father is not. He is really heavily involved in the Catholic Church. At that church you do not talk about it.”

But it’s sharing personal stories that Kiefer thinks is the catalyst in shaping the future of LGBT rights in small towns like Washington, Missouri. “More and more people living in those communities being out, I do think that that would help it to change in the next decade. I think it already has so far.”

Neil Rhoades
Neil Rhoades

Neil Rhoades – Indianapolis, Indiana to Denver, Colorado

Neil Rhoades grew up in in Indianapolis – Indiana’s dominating metropolitan area of more than 1.5 million, on a cultural crossroads between the Midwest, Great Lakes region and the Rust Belt. He said he’s lucky to come from a background that was open and supportive of his sexuality.

Rhoades came out when he was 18 years old, just out of high school. “My mother had concerns about health due to STD’s and stuff,” he said, “but once I educated her she was much more at ease – my entire family has embraced the two boyfriends that I’ve introduced them to over the years. One of the biggest reasons I am still so close to my family, is largely due to feeling like I can talk to them about anything I have going on, and still be accepted and loved.”

Indianapolis, Indiana
Indianapolis, Indiana

In a state with relatively little for LGBT people to find support in when it comes to state law – Indiana has no hate crime statute protecting LGBT people, no state laws regarding workplace discrimination against LGBT people and no form of relationship recognition for same-sex couples – Rhoades’ account is testimony to how much individual families, communities and experiences can vary within a region.

He noted he’s seen struggles; “The struggles I went through were the worst in high school,” he said. “But I think that is every high school, really. I dated girls to make sure no one picked on me too much, and playing sports helped with feeling normal, too, I think.”

Rhoades is a traveler – around the United States as well as abroad – and said he’s more self–conscious of his sexuality abroad. “When my best friends and I went to Morocco two years ago, we were warned to make sure we didn’t do anything overtly homosexual,” he said. Since moving to Denver he’s found it an easy place to call home.

“Here are so many people from the Midwest, or people who went to school in the Midwest, which has made it easier for me. I felt like while living in Indianapolis, I knew everyone in the [LGBT] community, and here in Denver, I meet new people all the time while I’m out and about that are supportive of me.”

JenJones
Jen Jones

Jen Jones – Drewry, North Carolina

The recent nationwide groundswell of support is even being felt in the most sparsely–populated areas. Jen Jones is the Director of Communications for Equality NC, a nonprofit fighting for North Carolinian LGBT rights. Born in 1975, Jones was raised in Drewry, North Carolina. “Population about 2,500. No stop light,” Jones said.

She grew up on a tobacco farm, part of a longstanding agricultural heritage in North Carolina with roots that go back to the 1660s. Tradition is part of what defines the community, and it was here Jones came out as a lesbian when she was only 16, dating a girl in her high school who was one year younger, and not out.

“My mother responded poorly. Accused me of doing bad things to another child. My father, who I informed at the same time, told me I should have lied to my mother when she asked me. It was incredibly hard because there was no real support system, and I was the only out person at my high school that I knew of.”

Complicating matters was the fact that Jones’ girlfriend’s father was a coach and her mother a librarian at the only high school in the county. “Everyday going to school was a little challenging, knowing that the mother of my girlfriend who was fifteen years old knew we were in a relationship.”

RuralNorthCarolinaEven today, there has only been a modicum of progress for LGBT students in Warren County, NC. “You fast forward twenty years later, and they’re still working through the growing pains of having an LGBT community in a small rural southern town. Only recently have they started clubs and groups in the county to help high school students with the coming out process.”

Jones graduated high school in 1993 and attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. “Once again, I felt like I was the only gay person in a much bigger school of 25,000. But I think it was just a product of the time, and not many people were out.”

This was before Facebook, before MySpace, before Google was even a search engine. “Before social media, we had to be social. Clubs and bars became our church for the experience of coming out and being accepted. Those were the types of places we went to feel more welcome and have a sense of unity.”

It was also in the university’s rugby team, the Tar Heels, that Jones and other lesbians found what she called an oasis. “So again, sports was the common denominator, at least for lesbians on campus,” Jones joked.

But despite the lack of support growing up, Jones was able to cultivate acceptance with the people she met. Her relationship with her parents has also strengthened, and she attributes it all to establishing strong connections with everyone around her.

“I’ve always said I understand homophobia, especially in the South. I understand being afraid of something you don’t understand and you don’t relate to. I very much made it a process of infiltrating straight friends and family, letting them get to know me, letting them understand my experiences, and then coming out slowly. That leads to a less-quick process of evolving in the South, but it’s truly the way we do things.”

After graduating college, Jones earned a law degree from North Carolina Central University. She now uses her education and experience to reach the people in the same types of communities she grew up in.

“To have a southern accent, to have grown up on a tobacco farm, to be from a rural community and to understand what it takes to move people on that level. And it’s not often talking about rights or equality or even fairness, but talking more about the harms conveyed neighbor to neighbor of these types of regressive legislative initiatives.”

In May of last year, North Carolinians voted 61 to 39 percent to amend the state’s constitution, not only defining marriage between one man and one woman, but also invalidating all civil unions or domestic partnerships, regardless if the couple is straight or gay.

“Amendment 1, if there was a victory in that fight, it was the fact that we were more visible than we have ever been,” said Jones. “We had more conversations than had ever been carried on in the state, and in the most unlikely places, with people who had not normally talked about those issues.”

Jones said the best way to reach the LGBT youth is not to just promise it will get better years down the road. “The best thing we can do for a sixteen year old who’s in a rural part of the South is to share stories of other sixteen year olds who are living and working and happy and out in those same types of communities, showing them it not only gets better, but it can be better right now. You don’t have to move to New York or San Francisco to find that acceptance.”

Equality NC is currently working to establish LGBT statewide nondiscrimination protection so more North Carolinians can come out, share their stories, and support campaigns against legislation like Amendment 1 without the fear of losing their job or housing.

Jen LaBarbera
Jen LaBarbera

Jen LaBarbera – Fredonia, New York to Denver, Colorado

For many who have moved to Colorado, the state’s recent passage of civil unions, along with having more out LGBT legislators than any other state, is a hopeful sign of things to come in other parts of the nation.

“Denver is amazing,” said Jen LaBarbera, who moved to Denver three years ago and is now working toward a Masters Degree in Librarian Information Science at the University of Denver. “We have a lot of work to do still, but just what I’ve seen in the past three years that I’ve lived here, politically it’s been huge.”

LaBarbera grew up in Fredonia, New York, population just over 11,000. The small town hosts an annual tree lighting ceremony in December, and features horse–drawn trolley tours through the Forest Hill Cemetery every October during the harvest moon.

Fredonia, New York
Fredonia, New York
Denver, Colorado
Denver, Colorado

“It’s a very small town, a little bit rural. There were a total of two out boys in my high school, and that was it. And they were, of course, my friends.” LaBarbera didn’t come out until she left for Smith College in Massachusetts. “It’s not that I was afraid, necessarily, of coming out. It just didn’t seem like it would be an option.”

Her school had no GSA, but LaBarbera and her friends started their own support group her senior year. “During Pride Month we put up a couple of signs on our lockers saying we were allies. They were ripped down by some students. I was called a ‘f*cking dyke’ by one of the boys in my class, but it didn’t feel like a threat, it just felt like he was trying to prove he was macho.”

The climate has changed for the better since she graduated high school in 2003. Keeping in contact with one of her teachers, LaBarbera learned that there are now a lot more openly gay students. “She said it’s sort of getting to the point where it is a non-issue from her perspective.”

LaBarbera came out while earning a double major in Women’s Studies and Government. “I eventually adopted the term ‘queer’ because it seems more open, and a little bit more true to who I’m actually attracted to.” LaBarbera worked a year and a half in Kansas City for Planned Parenthood before moving to Denver. “The things that have happened in Colorado in the past three years, obviously that has not happened in Kansas or Missouri. They will eventually, but it’s definitely a lot more accepting [here].”

LaBarbera said the progressive shift in LGBT acceptance across American is due largely to more visibility than ever before, coupled with more out legislators than ever before. “Now politicians left and right are saying they believe gay marriage is a right,” she said.

But she also feels there is much more work to be done in bringing together individuals who are not as visible on the national stage. “We need to focus our energies on the T part of our community. We have to talk about class and economic issues, disabled folk, along with bullying and the homeless queer youth.”

LaBarbera emphasized that the intersections regarding race and gender expression were especially important. “Denver’s queer scene, it’s mostly white and it’s mostly gay men. But it’s also, once you find your people, you realize there are a lot more of them than you might think.”

Whether growing up in a crowded metropolis on the coast or in a rural community in the South, LGBT folks throughout the nation emphasized the importance of being visible, sharing personal stories of perseverance, and establishing a platform of candid discourse not only with those who oppose LGBT rights, but within the community itself.

“We need to have those really honest conversations and be willing to take action where we need to take action.”

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