OUT ON THE HILL is the official blog of the Victory Congressional Interns. Views expressed do not necessarily reflect those of LGBTQ+ Victory Institute. Learn more about the internship at victoryinstitute.org/vci.
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A large credit that I give to why I am the person I am today is because of a small band from Boise, Idaho that I started listening to at 12 years old. King and Queen of The Losers was as important to me through my teen years as getting the role I wanted in the school play or getting an “A” on my paper about Romeo and Juliet. I was at every show my mom would take me to until I could drive; usually at a grungy all-ages venue and a lineup that ended at 10 pm.
In my senior year of high school, I did my Senior Project on “how to get involved in a local music scene.” This was my first sense of community that I had felt completely accepted in and I wanted to share it with anyone who would listen. Not many of my peers in high school were openly themselves, and those who let themselves be free were ostracized. But at a show, dancing to an out-of-tune electric guitar in a room of 20 other people, I wasn’t worried about people thinking I was weird in the same way I knew classmates thought I was.
It was only in college that I found a group of friends who I could share this community with. We bonded over our debate team, queerness, and music. Finding true comradery was not something I had been well acquainted with, but in the midst of mosh pits and screaming vocals, I knew they understood me. To be truly understood is something all of us yearn for.
In Idaho, I have few spaces where I feel safe and comfortable to be myself and let my identity be at the forefront of my presentation. I carry a constant weight of concern about who I am around and how they feel about how I wear my hair, piercings, and clothes. To openly present as queer brings me joy, but I can’t ignore the heavy stares I get in public.
This is something I expected to feel on the Hill. I feared my professionalism would come under fire, and I would have to compensate by not letting my personality show. This couldn’t have been further from the truth. In an opening panel discussion during Victory’s Orientation, openly queer people on the Hill talked about presenting in ways that disrupt the status quo because they are working to show that they deserve to be there without conforming. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders that I hadn’t fully recognized was there. Once you’ve had your guard up for so long, you partially forget it’s there. It’s like letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
While this institution is incredibly old and tradition still lives within it, disruptors have paved a path that has let me be my goofy self in the office. I have felt strength in knowing there is a community of people who present as fully themselves because nothing else is an option for them. If it weren’t for those before me who proudly took up space, I wouldn’t feel comfortable being authentic. It is because of the safe space that has been built in offices like mine that I haven’t felt an all-too-familiar crushing weight of judgment. I have felt community as I walk the halls of Congress in a way that echoes the community I feel when I am at a small punk show in Boise, Idaho.
