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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“Well, to be fair, almost everyone in this city is queer,” commented one of my cohort members nonchalantly. While he was jokingly responding to my exclamation about the impressive visibility of queer people in D.C., he wasn’t wrong. A recent estimate suggests that almost 15% of the population Washington D.C. is LGBTQ+, greater than any state. This striking statistic is apparent after a few weeks of living in D.C. There are well-established queer communities, a plethora of nightlife options, and easily accessible resources tailored to queer individuals.
D.C.’s queer presence is not just limited to fun gay bars, however, but it expands into the professional realm. The work that organizations such as LGBTQ+ Victory Institute are engaging in is profoundly impactful; they have made notable inroads into the historically hostile environment of American politics. Victory has supported hundreds of LGBTQ+ elected officials and hosts valuable programs and events. One such function was their annual Congressional Pride Reception, which my cohort and I attended last week. The event is a night to discuss the fight for equality and be in community with fellow LGBTQ+ Hill staffers. The speaker of honor was Senator Tammy Baldwin, a politician from Wisconsin. She was elected to the House of Representatives in 1998, as the first person to be openly gay at the time of their election. She was elected to the Senate in 2010, and made history yet again as the first openly gay senator. Spending the evening surrounded by out, proud, politically involved queer community was heartwarming, and gave me cause to marvel at how much progress had been made in a few short decades.
Leaving the reception, however, I casually opened my phone to scan the news, coming across a headline reminding me of the repressive legislation my home state of Louisiana had passed. I spent the evening standing alongside trailblazers such as Senator Baldwin, celebrating the path she had paved for my cohort (along with many others). That positivity was quickly dashed with the reminder that our very existence as LGBTQ+ people, let alone our flourishing, is threatened on a daily basis.
This duality of joy and grief is something I balance on a daily, if not hourly, basis as a queer person. I have spent years trying to reconcile the two sides of my queer experience, finding a single emotion that neatly characterizes my perspective. What I’ve realized is that giving myself grace to embrace the complex array of emotions is imperative. I can celebrate the opportunity to stand alongside Senator Baldwin and appreciate the significance of her being the first out LGBTQ+ member of Congress, while recognizing that the space remains inaccessible to the vast majority of queer people. I can celebrate my bravery in coming to this program, while simultaneously grappling with the hesitancy I feel to respond when someone misgenders me. I can appreciate the fact that I was seamlessly accepted into my office (which already had multiple LGBTQ+ employees!!) while still feeling disappointed over the continued impulse to justify my presence as an out queer person. I can rejoice in the community I have to organize with and be comforted by, while mourning the fact that we must fight for our basic rights.
Queerness is in many ways a contradiction (of the gender binary, heteronormativity, colloquial expectations, etc.) so it seems only fitting that my emotions surrounding queerness be contradictory as well. As I move through the remaining six weeks of this program, I aim to continue giving myself grace to navigate the conflicting emotions and experiences that are inherent to being queer. On late night walks around the National Mall with my roommates, or bagel runs before Friday programming, I intend to continue exploring these contradictions with the wonderful community I have found within this program. I will give myself permission to celebrate and mourn, to rejoice and to grieve.
