Solidarity with queer folks is to disrupt fascism.
I curated the last two editions of the INDY Pride issue with an eagerness to center the beauty that is queerness. I collected stories and narratives of folks who were at the intersection of power and pain. These brave queer folks gifted readers with their talents, testimonies, and witness. Their existence and resistance charged communities to audit how we show up for queer folks. Through poetry, visual art, short stories, essays, and interviews, they opened a window into the queer human-experience. Their vulnerable yet valiant display of humanity set the stage for a time such as this—a time where hope for the survival of marginalized people is at the mercy of people’s willingness to fight against fascism, dismantle systemic oppression, amplify truth, and disrupt the violence and unrelenting attacks on queer communities.
On every level of society, queer folks are in a fight for their lives. Facing this truth is not just about politics or ideology—it is about acknowledging that members of our communities and families are unsafe. Facing the truth of this moment is to acknowledge that the president of the United States is conducting a violent cleansing of any traces of queer existence. Queer people and all oppressed people will lose this fight if those who claim allyship remain silenced and frozen with fear and complacency.
There’s nothing that I could write that would justly convey the pain and devastation that queer folk undergo. I have no more beautiful and hopeful prose to soothe the reader into hope that the resilience and resistance of oppressed people will carry us through to another day. My hope is waning.
My hope wanes as people across ideologies buckle and bend to fascism. Organizations who are fearful of losing grants, politicians who are fearful of losing elections, figures who are fearful of losing sponsorships, agencies who are fearful of losing accreditation, schools who are fearful of losing funding—are accommodating the Trump administration’s assault on oppressed people and their dissenting voices.
Today, to love queer folks is not a T-shirt, a flag, a sticker, or even attendance at a celebration. Those gestures are welcome, but they are not sufficient as acts of love. Love for queer folks requires resistance—bold, outspoken, disruptive, resistance against every pillar of the monster that is fascism.
Love is hitting the streets in protest. It’s boycotting companies and organizations that distance themselves from solidarity with oppressed identities. It’s severing ties with entities that cleanse traces of association with institutions who look to give refuge and care to folks victimized by capitalism and fascism.
To love queer folks is to use platforms and outlets to rage against the war on LGBTQIA+ people. It’s to say what people are afraid to say. It’s to do what people are afraid to do. It’s to put comfort and security on the line for people who are suffering.
One of the malicious myths at the foundation of the assault on queer folks is the false narrative that queer folks have or have ever had any privilege and advantage. There is no data—qualitative or quantitative—to substantiate that propaganda.
Queer folks are disproportionately impacted by poverty, suicide, homelessness, incarceration, food insecurity, discrimination, unemployment, depression, and body dysmorphia compared to their cishet counterparts. They’re more likely to be the victims of abuse, domestic violence, state violence, hate crimes, and social isolation. Transgender people are over four times more likely than cisgender people to experience violent victimization, including rape, sexual assault, and aggravated or simple assault.
The idea of queer folks having any collective experience in the United States, outside of a hellish onslaught of abuse and degradation, is a delusional distortion created to help hateful people sleep better.
But that disgusting and outrageous narrative galvanizes people to bully and demean queer folks. It empowers people to continue this pattern of hate, veiled as a backlash against an assault on morality.
The LGBTQ Center of Durham fights an uphill battle to humanize survivors of hate and oppression. The mischaracterization and demonization of institutions like the Center, that serve as a lifeline to queer folks, will have consequences for queer people that will radiate for generations.
The LGBTQ Center of Durham, a center that celebrates and serves Black and brown queer people, stares the ugliness of patriarchy and white supremacy in its face regularly. Its existence is a testimony to the need for structures that address capitalism’s suffocating grip on how our systems operate.
The folks who share their stories here are survivors who fight for visibility, prosperity, and safety. They have stories and realities that humanize the queer struggle. Queer people are risking their lives every time they expose and reveal any part of who they are. Read and hold the testimonies of these queer people with care and understanding. Queer people are in a fight for their lives against fascism. Your resistance and disruption may make the difference in how the fight goes.
Desmera Gatewood is a neurodivergent, Black, non-binary writer and organization development practitioner. They serve on the board of the LGBTQ Center of Durham.
Read more of our 2025 Pride coverage below. This post will be updated throughout the week leading up to Pride: Durham, NC.
Portraits of Pride: Niccolo Roditti (Kali Fuchis)