Klaudia, an anti-violence advocate and sexual violence educator, says that even in a state like Oregon, which people assume to be friendly to LGBTQ+ people, “my partner of almost five years and I walk around with immense hypervigilance when it comes to showing any level of public affection.” Non-LGBTQ+ people may take for granted that they can show small expressions of affection without fear of judgment, but for LGBTQ+ people like Klaudia, any public affection towards a partner could put them at a higher risk of being harassed or attacked.
“My partner and I often joke that we can’t hold hands because we’d get ‘hate-crimed.’ And while many couples could relate to that kind of humor, queer folks of color like myself and my partner know the risks of being out loud and proud.”
Before coming out, Klaudia attended a private university that expressly discriminated against LGBTQ+ students. “In our student agreements was a clause asking us not to be gay–that it would violate their code of conduct”
Attempts to create school-sponsored LGBTQ+ groups were denied; the few out faculty members and students were harassed, fired, or excommunicated. Finding community and stepping away from this unaccepting bubble allowed Klaudia to reflect on herself and her sexuality. “Occupying those spaces allowed me to grapple with my sexuality at a time that I was questioning.”
Eventually, Klaudia did find herself and came out, but it was far from easy. That environment and messaging created shame for Klaudia, and it took some time for her to take that apart and be proud of her identity.
Klaudia later encountered discrimination where she least expected it: a workplace that outwardly advocated for LGBTQ+ people. “On the face of it, it was a workplace that was a potential safe haven employer for queer people. But there was a huge asterisk because it was a safer employer for a specific type of queer person.”
This specific type of person, she describes, is usually not transgender, does not have any mental or physical disabilities, is college-educated, and white. Internally, leadership had many biases around people of color, adding another layer of challenges if you were both LGBTQ+ and not white.
“It was hard to be your whole self at work. It was also hard to see that trans staff had many negative experiences, including deadnaming (using the names people were born with instead of their chosen names), issues with health insurance, incorrect gender markers, and more. And so while outwardly the organization advocated for us, internally, that life-saving work was neglected.”
Klaudia remains hopeful for a better workplace future for LGBTQ+ people. She emphasizes the power of collective action and institutional change: "The only way I see through these issues is by advocating [...] especially through labor unions. Working to elevate the voices of the most vulnerable staff members (usually people of color, trans folks, and queer folks) and demanding better conditions is incredibly powerful."
Klaudia points out that organizational leadership often overlooks worker well-being: "Leaders can be so focused on the output of the work itself, and neglect to see that the workers stand to benefit from that work, too."
Klaudia stresses the importance of accountability and collaborative solutions: "It's important to name the harm caused in the workplace and repair that harm—in the moment, and for the future workers. That is truly the most authentic way to go about change."
The name used in this story is an alias, but their story is true.
Featured image is a still from the 'American Dreams' PSA.