By Greg Hernandez for Yes! Magazine.
Broadcast version by Suzanne Potter for California News Service reporting for the Yes! Magazine-Public News Service Collaboration
When Lisa Chilton, 65, leaves her studio apartment, she often encounters several young people hanging out near the entrance of the five-story senior housing complex she has called home since 2021. Because Chilton knows most of her young acquaintances’ faces but not all of their names, she’s nicknamed them. There’s the 19-year-old whom she has secretly named “Angry Boy,” and the young teen whom Chilton refers to as “Pretty Girl With Glasses.” And most days, there is the tall transgender youth who likes to talk to Chilton about her hair.
Chilton’s apartment building is located within the Los Angeles LGBT Center’s Anita May Rosenstein campus, which is designed to facilitate intergenerational interaction. The bustling 180,000-square-foot Rosenstein campus brings LGBTQ youth, seniors, and housing together in a unified setting. It opened in 2019 to much fanfare and is the only large-scale intergenerational campus in the United States to specifically provide housing, services, and programs for LGBTQ adults aged 50 and older with low incomes, and for LGBTQ youth—primarily aged 18 to 24—experiencing homelessness.
“I look after them and they look after us,” says Chilton, who is a lesbian. “I live in a colorful building in a colorful neighborhood. We have every race, we have everyone across the sexual and gender continuum. It’s almost a microcosm of the world.”
The Campus also serves as the administrative headquarters for the 54-year-old Center, which is the largest LGBTQ organization in the world, with seven locations across the city. “Some of our seniors feel very isolated, and being able to interface with the youth, I think that’s pretty special,” explains Lisa Phillips, the Center’s director of youth services. “We had an intergenerational Thanksgiving event last year, and it was a line out the door. The seniors had a great time; the youth had a great time.”
In March, the Center hosted an opportunity fair for youth and seniors looking for employment; youth residents later performed a drag show during a senior dance hosted at the Ariadne Getty Foundation Senior Housing complex. Kiera Pollock, the Center’s director of senior services, says these facilitated intergenerational interactions help create intentional opportunities for connection between people who may be at vastly different points in their lives. “Our folks have different challenges in the community, and we have to kind of meet them where they are,” Pollock says. “I think many of our youth are trying to just figure out … how to survive, how to get back into school, how to stabilize their lives, how to get clean. So the way in which they interact with the older adults, we found, has to be kind of structured within a program that makes the most sense.”
On any given day, there are more than 4,000 youths (under age 24) living on the streets of Los Angeles, mostly in Hollywood, according to the Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority 2020 count. The percentage of unhoused youth who are LGBTQ can be as high as 40%, according to the Center. Before senior housing was available on the Rosenstein campus, the Center opened the doors of the Michaeljohn Horne & Thomas Eugene Jones Youth Housing building in 2021. The 25 apartments in the building are the first micro-units designed for LGBTQ youth experiencing homelessness in Los Angeles, according to the Center.
The campus also offers 92 beds available for youths—52 for the Transitional Living Project (TLP), where youths can stay for up to 24 months. Youths housed in the TLP work with Center staff to develop the skills they need to be able to live independently. The remaining 40 beds are for an emergency and crisis shelter. Youth residents have access to the Center’s full range of wraparound services and support, including case management, education, employment training and placement, health and mental health care, food and clothing assistance, counseling and support groups, and activities and events.
Carlos J. Mejia Vijil, 23, moved out of TLP in July, after living there for two years. He first arrived at the Center when he was just 19, after making a harrowing journey through Mexico from Honduras, where he feared for his life because he is gay. An immigrant-rights attorney connected him with the Center’s legal services department, which represents immigration and asylum clients from more than 70 countries—many of whom risk arrest or physical harm if they go back to their home countries because they are LGBTQ. “They helped me out with everything,” Mejia Vijil says of Center staff. “Everything I have, every opportunity is thanks to the Center.”
Mejia Vijil was initially placed in the Center’s emergency overnight shelter, then moved into TLP. He made the most of his opportunities by completing an English as a second language program held at nearby Hollywood High School, then enrolled in the culinary arts program on campus. “The culinary classes are in English, and I was just learning English. I tried real hard,” he says. “The older people were co-workers, and we talked like friends. They really respected who I am.” Mejia Vijil now works as a line cook at Osteria La Buca on trendy Melrose Avenue, and lives in his own apartment in Hollywood.
Connecting Across Age
The Center’s culinary arts and social services training programs are the most prominent examples of success in forging intergenerational connections in the classroom. The 100-hour social services vocational training program teaches younger and older students necessary skills to build a career in social services. Many graduates have since landed jobs at the Center, working in intake, street outreach, and peer support.
The 12-week, 300-hour culinary program focuses on developing basic culinary skills, producing 500 meals a day to be served to Center clients. Students also do a four-week internship at a local restaurant or hotel, and are then offered job placement assistance within the restaurant or hospitality sector. “I think what’s been pretty amazing [is] to be able to have youth and seniors enrolled in a culinary class together,” Phillips says. “Many of these young people have not had adults who are affirming of their identity. To see the seniors and a generation of older queer people, and to be able to support them and to share their experience from a different generation, has been really remarkable.”
Pollock says since the older students usually have career and employment experience, mentoring and an abundance of mutual support occur organically in the campus’s commercial kitchen, where classes and meal production take place. And despite the decades between them, the students’ experiences sometimes mirror each other when it comes to gender identity or sexual orientation.
“We had in our culinary program a youth who was transitioning and a senior who was transitioning,” Pollock recalls. “They just happen to both apply for the program at the same time. They were able to support each other and talk about some of the different issues around that together—how they were dressing and using different pronouns. And they talked together about how that transition is different for a younger person. That was amazing to watch.”
After a career in sales, 64-year-old Annetta Daniel, who is gay, hopes to work with food in a variety of ways, and so jumped at the opportunity to enroll in the culinary program. “They make you very aware that this is going to be the seniors and the youth mixed. I thought, that’s fantastic!” Daniel says. “I know I have a lot to bring to the table for them. I’ve been down the road that they’re headed down. And they’re going to bring a lot to the table for me.”
When Daniel first moved into the Getty building in 2021, “I had nothing but my clothes,” she says. Her partner of 23 years had died in 2017, leading to housing instability. She was diagnosed with breast cancer, which enabled her to secure temporary housing because she was high-risk due to her health, then she moved into her current home in the Getty building, where she has thrived. “I want to grow as tall as I can, I want to know as much as I can, and I want to go as many places as I can,” Daniel says. “I want to have as many friends as I can, and experiences, and this place offers that to me.”
The High Demand for Housing
The Center has a total of 202 units of affordable housing for seniors who are 62 or older. More than half of the units are in the Triangle Square Senior Apartments complex, located at the corner of Selma and Ivar in Hollywood—one mile away from the main campus. Of the estimated 65,000 LGBTQ seniors who call Los Angeles home, a majority (68%) live alone, as LGBTQ seniors nationwide are four times less likely to have children or grandchildren to care for them than their heterosexual counterparts, and are twice as likely to be single, notes Pollock.
Before the doors of the Center’s affordable senior housing units had even opened in late summer 2021, more than 2,000 applications had been submitted. Most of the residents were chosen by a lottery system, but 25 of the units are designated as permanent supportive housing units for seniors experiencing homelessness, whose rents are funded by L.A. county and city grants.
The Triangle Square complex has an outdoor swimming pool and garden while the Getty building has amenities including a community room, communal kitchen, pool table, and a fitness center. Residents have direct access to the Center’s Harry and Jeanette Weinberg Senior Center and its services that include counseling and support groups, case management, home-delivered meals, in-home care, and benefits assistance. Residents can also be connected to health and mental health care, and HIV support.
For Chilton, moving into the building has been “life-changing.” “It is a personal miracle,” she says. “It’s about having my own sanctuary. You don’t really understand that until you don’t have one. I had 10 years without [my] own sanctuary, of couch surfing and trying to make myself small, to not get in the way. Everything in my life has fallen into place, with a constant state of contentment. I don’t know that I ever felt this good emotionally, spiritually, and physically.”
John Maragioglio, an 82-year-old Air Force veteran, has also found community since moving into the Getty building in October 2021. He worked at the Center as an accountant in the 1980s, during the worst days of the AIDS epidemic, and returned to the Center in 2021 when he needed a place to live. “I’ve met a lot of gay people in here,” says Maragioglio, who is also gay and attends a veterans social group every Wednesday. “There’s one guy who does a movie night twice a month downstairs. You go to lunch downstairs every day. It’s so nice to have that lunch.”
He has not connected with the youth the way Chilton and others have, but he’s usually happy to see them around. “I can see where some of them have a little attitude,” he says. “But you know, we have to realize all kids have attitudes. They’re just finding themselves.”
Together, Independently
Center leadership has been learning in real time how to best bring the seniors and youth together. Pollock says they’ve had to learn to manage their expectations and be mindful that youth who have recently experienced homelessness may also have suffered any number of traumas in their young lifetimes.
“I think their goals are different in intergenerational connection, and we had to learn that right away,” she says of the youth. “It’s really great that folks get to connect across our programs but can still go back home to live in their units, where maybe they’re hanging out with other 21-year-olds. Our [senior] folks are hanging out with other 70-year-olds, who maybe want it quiet after 9 p.m.”
But when the connections are made, they can be invaluable. “In the LGBT community, often people come out but they don’t have any members of their family who are queer,” Pollock says. “As a younger person, you don’t necessarily have another gay person in your direct life to mentor you. So the opportunity for some of our seniors to kind of mentor and support our youth, it’s really powerful in a community that doesn’t have that.”
Greg Hernandez wrote this article for Yes! Magazine.
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A New Mexico, LGBTQ civil rights group says a debunked claim by the Trump-Vance presidential campaign that "sex changes" are taking place in schools is being repeated by some state candidates.
Trump has regularly promoted claims that educators are "grooming" or "indoctrinating" children to become gay or transgender.
Equality New Mexico Executive Director Marshall Martinez said the fear tactic also is being used by a handful of Republican New Mexico candidates, who frame transphobic messaging as support for women.
"Regardless of the political stance that people have on trans folks and the issues they face," said Martinez, "when these lies are told in our communities, it hurts the trans people in that community."
Republican former member of Congress Yvette Herrell, who is challenging U.S. Rep. Gabe Vasquez - D-Las Cruces - has been accused of using coded anti-transgender rhetoric.
She has denied the allegation, stating that "pro-woman" is not anti-LGBTQ.
But Herrell previously voted against bipartisan legislation to protect marriage equality, and supported an abortion ban without exceptions for rape or incest.
Martinez said that research done by Equality New Mexico found 53% of state residents have a close personal relationship with someone who is transgender.
"When these politicians or candidates are spreading lies about surgeries," said Martinez, "and about forcing young people to become trans or pushing an agenda, what they're doing is attacking those close personal relationships we all have."
There is no evidence that gender-affirming surgery has ever occurred at a public school in the U.S, or that a school has sent a student to receive the surgery elsewhere.
Already about half of U.S. states ban transition-related surgery for minors - and where it's legal, it's still very rare.
Transgender young people who experience discrimination have been linked to suicidal ideation and self-harm.
Disclosure: Equality New Mexico contributes to our fund for reporting on Civil Rights, Human Rights/Racial Justice, LGBTQIA Issues, Social Justice. If you would like to help support news in the public interest,
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OutNebraska's Prairie Pride Film Festival returns for its 14th year this week.
Johnny Redd, communications manager for OutNebraska, said the festival was started because of a lack of cultural events in the Midwest focused on LGBTQ+ stories. Festival changes this year include adding two additional locations and more fiction films.
Redd noted storytelling through films is both entertaining and one of the most impactful ways to shed light on issues.
"Facts and logic can only go so far, and sometimes just being receptive to a story can really be impactful," Redd explained. "We really love the idea of film as an agent of social change and empowerment, and also just celebration and seeing ourselves on the big screen."
The film festival will be in Lincoln on Oct. 17, followed by Hastings and Omaha on Oct. 19 and Oct. 20, respectively. Redd believes one documentary, "Seat 31," will resonate with Nebraskans because of its parallels to the contentious 2023 Nebraska legislative session. It features Zooey Zephyr, Montana's first openly transgender state legislator, who was censured for her outspoken opposition to a ban on gender-affirming care for minors.
Seat 31 shows what the film's publicity describes as Zephyr's "shocking, funny and joyous" experiences on the bench she makes her "office" after being barred from the floor of the Montana House. Redd called the story timely, saying wounds still linger in Nebraska from the passage of Legislative Bill 574.
"I think it's a very inspiring story," Redd emphasized. "She still wanted to be able to do her job, even if she wasn't allowed on the legislative floor. I think this will be pretty healing, to see a story from another state that went through something very similar to us."
As of 2020, there are more than 270 LGBTQ+ film festivals worldwide.
Disclosure: OutNebraska contributes to our fund for reporting on LGBTQIA Issues, Reproductive Health, and Social Justice. If you would like to help support news in the public interest,
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By Nico Lang for Yes! Media.
Broadcast version by Freda Ross for Texas News Service reporting for the Yes! Media-Public News Service Collaboration
In the early morning hours of May 10, 2023, Brigitte Bandit waited her turn to testify before Texas lawmakers with a message on the back of her dress that read: "Restrict Guns, Not Drag."
On the front of her white sheath gown were the names of the 22 children killed during mass shootings in the cities of Uvalde and Allen. After waiting 13 hours, she finally got to speak against Senate Bill 12, a Texas bill criminalizing drag performances, and accused GOP lawmakers of failing victims and their families by "spending more time in this legislative session targeting drag queens than gun violence." The provocation struck a nerve: After a Texas House committee member attempted to cut Bandit off before she had concluded her remarks, security escorted Bandit from the room.
Bandit, who resembles a harlequin Dolly Parton when made up in drag, had addressed the Texas Legislature once before: in March of 2023, opposing S.B. 12, which sought to criminalize drag artists who engaged in "sexually oriented performances" in view of minors with a $10,000 fine and a Class A misdemeanor, punishable by up to a year in jail. In March, Bandit was so nervous that her voice shook during her speech, but during her second visit to the Capitol, she says she was "really fucking angry." Three children were among the nine people killed after a gunman opened fire in an Allen shopping center on May 6-just four days earlier-and the empty sentiments from conservatives about "protecting kids" rang hollow, she says.
"They don't actually care about the truth," she says. "The first time I went to the Capitol, I had a little bit of hope: Oh, they don't know what they're talking about. We just need to show them. But these people want to continue to spread their lies. They don't care about the way this is affecting our community. They just really don't care."
Bandit is part of a nationwide grassroots movement of drag performers fighting back against anti-LGBTQ legislation-whether by speaking at state legislatures, joining lawsuits challenging drag bans, organizing rallies and marches, or any other way they can raise their voices. This advocacy has been extraordinarily effective in helping to move the needle on discriminatory laws. Four months after Bandit's first speech, a federal court declared S.B. 12-which Texas Gov. Greg Abbott (R) signed into law on June 18, 2023-to be unconstitutional.
According to the Movement Advancement Project, six states enacted laws over the past few years that could be used to restrict public drag performances; only two of those are currently enforceable, neither of which explicitly names drag performances, while all others have been blocked in court. Courts have issued temporary injunctions pausing drag bans in Florida and Montana as civil rights groups fight to repeal the laws entirely. And in June 2023, Tennessee became the first state to see its anti-drag law, which banned drag from being performed either on public property or in front of minors, fully struck down. Tennessee's Senate Bill 3 was particularly harsh in its scrutiny of drag artists: Repeat offenders were subject to a Class E felony, resulting in a maximum six-year prison sentence.
As one of the faces of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) lawsuit challenging Texas' S.B. 12, Bandit says she wept the day that the district court enjoined the law. She thought of how much drag has meant to her and what a profound impact it has had on her life since she first began performing in 2018. She had recently left an "intensely abusive relationship," she says, and was living in her mother's house after cramming all the belongings she could fit into her Fiat. "I had nothing," she recalls. "I didn't know who I was."
Bandit says finding drag helped her unlock an inner strength she never knew existed. She no longer felt the need to make herself small for other people's comfort and stopped putting everyone else's needs before her own. Drag became her suit of armor: a protective shield that allowed her to feel strong and ultimately use her voice in defense of the community that has shown her nothing but unconditional love. Although Bandit says that being part of the ongoing lawsuit against Texas has made this "one of the most challenging years" of her life, she intends to keep fighting to make sure others have the same opportunities to experience the beauty and power of drag.
In a time of unprecedented anti-LGBTQ legislation, it's fitting that drag performers are helping protect the decades of hard-won civil rights victories they themselves were instrumental in securing. Two of the leading figures in the early movement for LGBTQ equality were Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, trans women of color who sometimes referred to themselves as drag queens. As a nod to their groundbreaking work with the activist group Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries, which provided housing for unhoused LGBTQ youth, Johnson and Rivera are often credited with kick-starting the 1969 riots at the Stonewall Inn. The landmark six-day demonstration against police brutality was among the earliest and most visible LGBTQ-led protests in the U.S., inspiring the first Pride parades the following year.
More than 55 years later, drag performers are yet again on the front lines of LGBTQ activism, at another critical moment for the queer community. So far in 2024, more than 500 bills have been considered in states across the country seeking to curtail basic rights and protections for LGBTQ people, according to data provided by the National Center for Transgender Equality. That number has already surpassed the historic 499 anti-LGBTQ bills considered in 2023. The vast majority of those proposals are aimed at restricting the ability of trans youths and adults to access necessary medical care, educational opportunities, public bathrooms, and IDs that match their lived gender identity.
While this wave of GOP-led legislation has resulted in nearly half of U.S. states banning medical care for trans and nonbinary people, and limiting trans sports participation, the conservative crusade against drag is already waning. Of this year's crop of bills targeting public drag performances, not a single piece of legislation, to date, has been signed into law. Most of 2024's proposed drag bans have been killed in committee, not even advancing to floor debate.
Across the country, drag performers have played a direct role in countering legislation restraining their freedom of expression. When a Senate committee debated South Dakota's Senate Bill 184 in February, the Rapid City-based drag performer Dixy Divine delivered a speech to lawmakers calling the legislation "unnecessary, un-American, and unacceptable." If passed, S.B. 184 would have banned drag artists from exhibiting a "gender identity that is different from the performer's biological sex" in view of minors. Dressed in sparkly gold leggings and a modest black dress, she pointed out that drag has a long history in popular culture, dating from the comedies of William Shakespeare to the Robin Williams farce Mrs. Doubtfire: "We've been enjoying theater, dance, and plays that don't take gender too seriously for centuries."
The committee ultimately voted down South Dakota's drag ban 5-1, marking a year in which no explicitly anti-LGBTQ laws have been passed in the state thus far, according to the ACLU of South Dakota. House Bill 1178, a vaguely worded bill that could potentially be used to restrict the performance of drag on college campuses, was quietly signed into law by Gov. Kristi Noem (R) in March. H.B. 1178 restricts state universities from funding or hosting "obscene live conduct," but what comprises obscenity is left undefined.
Arkansas signed its anti-drag bill into law despite protests from drag performers, but local activism helped to significantly restrain its scope. Athena Sinclair, a local drag artist and former Miss Gay Arkansas, hosted a January 2023 rally on the steps of the state Capitol in opposition to Senate Bill 43, a bill written so broadly that critics warned it would effectively criminalize public gender nonconformity. Sinclair, who also testified before a state Senate panel, led protesters in a rendition of "Seasons of Love" from the Broadway musical Rent, a demonstration that drew hundreds of attendees. The version of S.B. 43 ultimately enacted was so watered down that it didn't even explicitly mention drag at all.
Sinclair says the choice of song was a pointed message to lawmakers who have claimed that drag performers are predators and "groomers"-even though no data exists to support those incendiary claims. "It's so easy to get angry," she says. "It's so easy to lash out, but at the end of the day, that's what they want. They want to make us look like the enemy. They want us to look like we are the problem. If we show them the complete opposite, we can show what drag actually is, which is love. Drag, to me, represents love because it is self-expression, and I don't think that there is any better way to love than to love yourself. That's what drag has done for me. It's made me love myself and trust myself in everything that I do."
Another reason so many of these legislative efforts have failed is that, in the words of drag performer Flamy Grant, the bills are "so on the far side of absurd that it's just exhausting." "We aren't gonna go quietly," the singer-songwriter and podcaster from North Carolina adds. "Drag performers are showing up in drag at their city council offices and their state governments and saying, 'This is who I am. My art doesn't exist to destroy society. It exists to make people know themselves and love themselves. It's not to tear down values. It's to expand what we value.'"
Grant (whose moniker is a reference to the Christian recording artist Amy Grant) was among the performers who fought against the enforcement of Tennessee's drag ban, which was revived by a Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals ruling that dismissed the case in July 2024. Flamy Grant was scheduled to be a headliner at Blount Pride in East Tennessee when the September 2023 event was threatened with prosecution. Although the drag ban had already been struck down in court, the county's attorney general, Ryan Desmond, vowed to enforce the law anyway. With Grant as a plaintiff, the American Civil Liberties Union of Tennesseefiled a successful lawsuit against Desmond, allowing the Pride festival to move forward as planned.
Grant knows that drag can play a major role in resisting anti-LGBTQ hate because she has seen it firsthand. Her post-show meet and greets, which deal with themes like surviving religious trauma and finding joy, are often longer than the performance, Grant notes, because bringing forward those dialogues gives people a space to heal. There are a lot of tears, she says, but a mother who lost her child to suicide once came up after a show to thank her. "You're literally saving lives," the woman said.
That's why Grant says protecting drag is so important: because it has the potential to reach people who really need to hear the message. "When you really get to know the drag community, the fearmongering is so silly," Grant says. "The goal of drag bans is to isolate people from each other. Drag bans try to remove us from public life and keep us in dark corners of the world. They know that the power of this art form is that it's liberating. It's freeing. It's empowering, and it helps people feel seen."
Nico Lang wrote this article for Yes! Media.
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