She always seemed too full of life to ever be gone from it, with her signature scarf and boundless energy—but Edie Windsor, whose case led to the first federal recognition for same-sex couples, died yesterday at the age of 88.
It’s been hard to miss the many news articles in the last 24 hours about President Trump revoking the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program. Here are some places, however, where you can more deeply explore the personal stories of those affected by DACA to better understand what its end will mean.
President Trump has, as expected, revoked the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, putting at risk nearly 800,000 immigrant youth and their families. As the granddaughter and great-granddaughter of immigrants myself, I see this as one more shameful act of the Trump administration.
As a child, there were two things I thought were unfathomable and absolutely morally wrong: nuclear war and Nazis. To see both in the news again as real threats to our country sickens and appalls me. But while nuclear war felt like a broad threat against all humanity, Nazism felt more personal. It was hate largely directed against a group—Jews—of which I was part. (It was only later in life that I added “queer” to that list as well.)
Can the gap between hater and hated ever be bridged? Writer, performer, and video maker Dylan Marron asks that question in a new podcast in which he converses with those who have sent him hate mail. It offers us all some useful lessons.
The recent events in Charlottesville—and the ongoing struggle our country has with racism and other forms of oppression—underscore the importance of raising children who are accepting and inclusive of all, and have the strength to stand against the actions of those who are not. Here are a few reading ideas.
A new coloring book for all ages celebrates last January’s Women’s March—and includes several queer families and individuals among the many diverse people in its pages.
A new report from a major philanthropic foundation looks at “state trends in child well-being.” Families with LGBTQ members, however, will likely want to cross-reference it with some LGBTQ-specific studies if they want to determine the best state for them.
This wasn’t the Pride Month I was looking forward to. I hoped we would be celebrating gains built on marriage equality, not battling to stop religious-exemption laws that could exclude us from parenting and limit homes for children who need them. I hoped we would be celebrating a growing understanding of transgender people, not trying to stop the same kind of bathroom bills for which North Carolina has been widely criticized. I hoped we wouldn’t still have to fight for the right of both same-sex parents to be on our children’s birth certificates.
I wrote this last year for my newspaper column, shortly after the shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando that killed 49 mostly LatinX, LGBTQ young people. One year later, to #HonorThemWithAction, I thought I should post it here.
When I learned of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012, my own son was in elementary school, and I was shaken to the core. He is in middle school now, and the Orlando massacre has shaken me again. The victims this time were not young children—but they were all someone’s children.
