The Senate made history Wednesday by confirming Dr. Rachel Levine as assistant secretary of health in a 52-48 vote, making her the highest-ranking openly transgender person in the federal government.
All Democrats and independents in the Senate voted to confirm Levine, while Sens. Susan Collins of Maine and Lisa Murkowski of Alaska broke with Republicans to make the confirmation a bipartisan one.
Levine’s confirmation has been praised by LGBTQ advocacy groups.
“President Biden committed to appointing our nation’s most qualified leaders to tackle the pandemic and he delivered in choosing Dr. Levine,” former Mayor Annise Parker of Houston, the president of LGBTQ Victory Institute, said in a statement on Wednesday. “Yet the importance of this moment extends well-beyond the health of our nation alone.”
Parker added: “At a time when hateful politicians are weaponizing trans lives for their own perceived political gain, Dr. Levine’s confirmation lends focus to the contributions trans people make to our nation and deflates absurd arguments calling for their exclusion.”
Levine’s nomination faced opposition from religious-rights groups as well as some Republican senators.
The former Pennsylvania health secretary remained calm amid aggressive questioning during her confirmation hearing last month.
Sen. Rand Paul of Kentucky faced backlash after he asked Levine during the hearing if she was a supporter of the “surgical destruction of a minor’s genitalia” and believed minors could make “such a life-changing decision as changing one’s sex?”
Levine responded by saying: “Transgender medicine is a very complex and nuanced field with robust research and standards of care that have been developed.”
She also told Paul she would discuss the matter further if confirmed.
As assistant secretary of health in the Department of Health and Human Services, Levine will oversee public-health initiatives, and President Joe Biden has said Levine will play an important role in the country’s coronavirus response, according to The Washington Post.
Before serving as Pennsylvania’s health secretary, Levine was the state’s physician general.
In a January statement about her nomination, Biden said she was a “historic and deeply qualified choice to help lead out administration’s health efforts.”
“Dr. Rachel Levine will bring the steady leadership and essential expertise we need to get people through this pandemic – no matter their zip code, race, religion, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability – and meet the public health needs of our country in this critical moment and beyond,” Biden said in a statement.
Amazon has stopped selling books that frame LGBTQ+ identity as a mental illness.
Brian Huseman, Amazon’s vice president of public policy, wrote a letter to four Republican senators confirming the online retailer stopped selling “When Harry Became Sally,” a book written by Ryan T. Anderson, a former fellow for the conservative think tank Heritage Foundation.
Huseman said in the letter, which was reviewed by Insider, that the platform does not have a “broad campaign” against conservative materials and offers customers content from a wide political spectrum. The Wall Street Journal first reported on the letter.
“We review both our Content Guidelines for Books and our approach to curating Amazon’s bookstore regularly, which can sometimes result in removal of books that were previously available on our shelves,” Huseman said in the letter, addressed to Sens. Marco Rubio, Josh Hawley, Mike Braun, and Mike Lee. “In this case, we have chosen not to sell books that frame LGBTQ+ identity as a mental illness.”
Amazon declined to comment beyond the details in Huseman’s letter.
The inquiry from the Republican senators regarding the book comes as GOP lawmakers continue to claim anti-conservative bias from tech companies.
Amazon also removed Parler, a social media site used by prominent conservative figures, from its web hosting platform, AWS. In his letter, Huseman denied a question that asked whether AWS denied service to conservative websites outside of “acceptable woke groupthink,” and said the company only requires sites not incite violence.
Almost a year ago, Chelsea Brickham posted on TikTok for the first time.
The video got more than 500,000 views. Brickham, a 38-year-old trans woman living in Florida, posted photos of her transition after seeing other trans creators do the same. About 2,000 positive and encouraging comments appeared underneath the video.
“My initial reaction to TikTok was that it was such a positive and nurturing environment,” she told Insider. “And that’s why that actually saved me. It pulled me out of that dark place at that moment. It really did wonders for my mental health.”
Brickham was days away from getting her long-awaited gender-affirming surgeries when the coronavirus pandemic caused the hospital to cancel them. Facing the cancellation, the costs of private health insurance, and a shift to telework, Brickham turned to TikTok for “some kind of distraction, and maybe brief levity,” she said.
“It kind of takes my breath away – even now, thinking back in retrospect – because every single one of those 2,500 comments was supportive and positive and just telling me things I needed to hear,” Brickham said.
Months later, the positivity came to a screeching halt.
One of her recent videos, which got more than 1 million views and wasn’t unlike the rest of her content, led to a flood of transphobic and other attacks on her appearance.
Brickham said the experience shattered her perception of the app. She wasn’t sure why this video, in which she responded to a commentator who had misgendered her, had elicited such a different response.
Most of the comments appeared to come from young, straight, cisgender men who misgendered her, she said. For these types of comments, Brickham said, she often visited the commenter’s profile to educate them.
“I just kind of deal with it with a factual, straightforward approach,” she said, adding that she often tells transphobic commentators they don’t have the “credentials” to make claims about her gender.
In one more egregious comment that Brickham reported, a TikTok user said it was a “shame” that cancer, which she’d recently had, didn’t kill her.
Trans TikTokers find community, but also abuse and harassment
In January 2020, The Washington Post dubbed TikTok “the soul of the LGBTQ internet,” adding that young LGBTQ people used TikTok “to share their raw feelings with each other” in a way not seen on legacy social-media platforms. As of this February, videos using the hashtag “#lgbtq” had more than 665 million views.
TikTok, owned by the Chinese company ByteDance, has publicly aligned itself with LGBTQ communities, and last year it donated $3 million to LGBTQ-focused organizations such as GLAAD and the Trevor Project.
But transgender creators say TikTok is an unwitting accelerator for transphobia and harassment.
Half a dozen trans TikTok creators, with a combined follower count of more than 3.1 million, told Insider that while the app had allowed them to build impressive followings and find a sense of community, its design appeared to perpetuate a culture of transphobia and harassment.
Creators detailed the harassment and abuse they’d experienced on the app; they all said they had experienced it to a greater degree on TikTok than on other social media platforms, in part because of the app’s central algorithm-driven feed. TikTok features – like duets, which allow users to respond to another user’s videos – have also been a tool for harassers.
Their concerns and experiences raise questions about TikTok’s ability to moderate content on the app.
Trans creators said their experience soured weeks after they began posting on TikTok
Last spring, before COVID-19 travel restrictions were imposed, Madelyn Whitley, a 20-year-old transgender woman and model living in New York, joined TikTok. She and her twin sister had traveled to France for fashion week and were living there.
Whitley, who had about 10 followers, posted a video of her and her sister, also a trans woman and model, for Trans Day of Visibility, a holiday that honors and recognizes trans people. The video “barely took off,” gaining about 20,000 likes, she said. But the attention skyrocketed from there.
“Everyone was so nice on that first video,” said Whitley, who as of February had 300,000 followers on the app. “And then I think down the line, maybe in September, I posted another one that had the complete opposite reaction – most of it was negative.
“I remember my first hate comment,” she added. The commenter had misgendered her and told her she was going to hell, Whitley said.
“I don’t know why,” Whitley added, “but some of the comments can get really, really transphobic, and we haven’t really experienced this anywhere else.”
Hateful behavior on TikTok can take many forms, including comments, collaborations, and direct messages.
A TikTok representative told Insider in an emailed statement that the platform “is a community with millions of diverse creators, and the platform wouldn’t be what it is today without the range of voices and experiences our users bring.”
“There is no place for hate and harassment on TikTok, and we’re committed to creating a safe space for our users, continually improving our protections for the LGBTQ community and other underrepresented groups, and being an active ally,” the statement said.
In December, the company said it was updating its community guidelines to make them more “inclusive and thoughtful,” adding rules and updating policies to prohibit doxxing, cyberstalking, and sexual harassment.
But negative messages are “as small as ignorant comments of people just commenting one word, ‘woman,’ or, like, saying I can never be a man,” Aiden Mann, a 26-year-old transgender man from Tennessee who has 2.2 million TikTok followers, told Insider.
“I’ve had people who messaged me on an anonymous account and, in detail, explain to me if they had the opportunity to kill me how they would do it,” he added. Mann said others had suggested he end his life by suicide.
The ‘wrong side’ of TikTok
In essence, TikTok functions as a custom cable network. The app’s algorithm acts as a network executive, deciding which videos get spread to certain users, based largely on what it suspects to be the user’s taste because of their past behavior.
Central to TikTok is the “For You” page. While users can watch videos from a list of accounts they follow, the primary means of consumption is the seemingly infinite stream of videos found on the page.
Platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, and especially YouTube similarly offer content, curated by an algorithm, from sources beyond the users a person has followed. But none uses such a system as its primary content driver in the way that TikTok does.
“I like to think of TikTok as a broadcast platform, like a channel that you’re watching rather than a social network,” said Daniel Sinclair, an independent researcher who studies TikTok and other social-media platforms, “because although you do have access to your following, TikTok is still controlling what you see.”
It is “entirely possible” that the “For You” page, led by TikTok’s algorithm and human moderators, could inadvertently lead to harassment, Sinclair said.
“I think the broadcast-first distinction is big because it’s TikTok that’s directing content and directing what you see more than many other platforms,” he added.
TikTok first shows a video to a small batch of people it thinks will be interested in it, based on a list of factors outlined in the blog post. Some of these users already follow the creator, while others don’t. Videos from accounts with larger followings may have an advantage, but “neither follower count nor whether the account has had previous high-performing videos are direct factors in the recommendation system,” the company said.
If the video performs well (users like or share the clip, or watch the entire video), the algorithm recommends it to more people. The process is repeated; if a video continues to be popular, it can quickly go viral.
The page has been credited with driving TikTok’s meteoric rise since the app emerged from Musical.ly in 2018, about a year after ByteDance purchased it. It has paved the way for TikTok’s culture of uber-fast virality and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it trends. Users with small followings have the opportunity for viral fame – their videos can be distributed to thousands and sometimes millions of strangers within hours.
Carolina Are, who researches online moderation and algorithmic bias at City, University of London, told Insider that TikTok differed from other platforms like Instagram because the app’s algorithm and focus on short videos made it easier for content to go viral.
“Because of that, because there’s no meaningful interaction, it feels like creators do not look human to people who comment, and therefore it feels very easy to just hate,” she said.
Trans creators told Insider that the “For You” page allowed them to quickly find a community and support on the app.
But there’s a hefty con to the page, they said, in that they have little control over their audience, and the audience has little control over what shows up on their screen.
“I’m starting to understand that there are different facets of going viral on TikTok,” Brickham said, alluding to the concept of “straight TikTok” versus “alt TikTok,” in which users experience vastly different types of content, memes, trends, and creators.
“There’s obviously the GLBT-positive sort of feed. And then there’s obviously, like, the conservative side and the Trump feed. And you’ve got the heterosexual sort of feed as well,” she said.
Mann also described an “LGBTQ side” of the platform where his videos often remained. But he said his experience would swiftly sour if his content ended up elsewhere.
Fletcher Furst, an 18-year-old from Alberta, Canada, argued that the algorithm behind the “For You” page was just part of the story. Furst speculated that transphobic users search for content from trans creators via hashtags like #lgbtq or #trans, leading TikTok to recommend similar content to them in the future.
Creators told Insider that the transphobia they faced on TikTok was more intense than on other social-media platforms. Unlike other apps that rely largely on a connection between creators and their followers, TikTok creators broadcast to communities that can include not only their followers but legions of people with similar interests who’ve never seen their content before.
Suddenly, the creators said, TikTok videos can end up in an entirely different community.
“Sometimes for some reason – I have no idea why – my transgender videos end up on straight TikTok, or the conservative side of TikTok, or religious TikTok,” Mann said. “And then I get the really bad bashing and hateful comments and death threats and stuff like that.”
In contrast, he said, “on Instagram, the only people who are going to see your posts, more than likely, are the people that are following you, and then same with Twitter and Facebook.”
On other platforms, “people can share stuff, and they can get to the wrong side, but it’s a lot more difficult,” he said. “With TikTok, your video can end up on the wrong side of TikTok any day, at any time. Then when it blows up, it goes on and on.”
Trans creators say their videos were removed while abusive content remained
Samuel Monger, a 17-year-old trans man from Oregon, estimated that about 10 of his videos had been removed from TikTok, for reasons that weren’t exactly clear to him. He said the deleted videos weren’t sexual or violent but involved him speaking about his experiences as a trans person.
He said TikTok had told him that these videos violated its community guidelines. He appealed, but the videos weren’t reinstated, leaving him frustrated. He tried to re-upload videos, and they were deleted again, Monger said. He was confused about why the videos were removed in the first place, but he moved on to new content.
In one video, which the company reinstated after Insider inquired about its removal, Monger showed off different facets of his style, modeling dressed-down and dressed-up outfits.
He said other trans creators had faced similar punishments when trying to, for example, educate trans youth on how to safely bind their chest to create a more masculine or nonbinary appearance.
Monger said that while he’d never shown his chest on TikTok, it was frustrating to see cisgender men – often some of TikTok’s biggest stars – appearing shirtless in videos, “advertising their bodies.”
TikTok has previously been criticized over its moderation policies. Last March, The Intercept reported that a company memo had in some markets directed moderators to keep users that they judged to be disabled, poor, or ugly from the “For You” page. At the time, the company said that the policies were an early attempt at preventing bullying, that they were no longer in use, and that they had never been implemented in the US.
A study by the Australian Strategic Policy Institute’s International Cyber Policy Centre published in September found that hashtags related to LGBTQ issues had been suppressed on the platform in at least eight languages.
Sinclair speculated that the policies were designed not to mitigate harassment but to limit content the company viewed as “unsightly.” He said it pointed toward a larger issue as TikTok’s Chinese parent company expanded to new markets and navigated content moderation.
Furst told Insider he’d also had several videos removed and was told that they’d violated TikTok’s community guidelines.
“I had a video where I tried to speak up on my experience being bullied in high school for being transgender,” he said. “And that video got taken down right away. I don’t know why. They just said it went against their guidelines.
“Maybe ’cause I just mentioned being trans, but then there are videos that are still up of people encouraging harm towards trans people, and it’s just insane,” he added. “It’s like, how come that stays up and my content gets taken down?”
The video, first uploaded in November, was reinstated by TikTok in February after Insider asked the company about its removal.
In August, Eric Han, TikTok’s US head of safety, said that since January it had removed more than 380,000 videos, 64,000 comments, and 1,300 accounts for violating its policies on hate speech.
“To be clear, these numbers don’t reflect a 100% success rate in catching every piece of hateful content or behavior, but they do indicate our commitment to action,” Han said.
Han said TikTok was updating its hate-speech policy, removing hateful content from the app, “increasing cultural awareness” in content moderation, improving transparency, and working with its teams and partners “to invest in our ability to detect and triage hateful or abusive behavior to our enforcement teams as quickly as possible.”
Han also said the company was training its content moderators on the difference between a marginalized group using a slur “as a term of empowerment” and a person using the same word hatefully.
“Educating our content moderation teams on these important distinctions is ongoing work, and we strive to get this right for our users,” Han said.
Mann said he’d been frustrated by TikTok’s inaction after he reported multiple videos he found transphobic.
“A lot of the videos that I reported come back saying that it’s not against community guidelines. I’m kind of in shock,” he said. “This person is literally making transphobic comments or making transphobic jokes. How is that not discrimination?”
Furst said TikTok would be more inclusive if it allowed creators to designate their videos as “educational,” to “be able to educate people about trans stuff without it being taken as sexual and then be taken down.”
All the creators who spoke with Insider said TikTok could change its community guidelines to better protect trans users.
Otherwise, Furst said, “it definitely feels like that app just wasn’t created for you.”
Hateful comments on TikTok can have real-life effects on trans communities
“Trans youth are continually being retraumatized through harassment that they experience both in the world that they live in and also when they show up online,” Dr. Ric Matthews, a psychotherapist in New York who works with LGBTQ communities, told Insider.
But when it comes to apps like TikTok, “not using these platforms really isn’t an option at this point,” Matthews said. “It’s an inescapable way of connecting and communicating and a necessity for social survival.”
Matthews added that “when harassment, bullying, and different types of violence that they experience in these spaces happens, it’s exacerbating isolation and alienation to people who are already battling to have safety in spaces that they occupy physically.”
Harassment on social media can also set back trans youth who are developing their identities, said Dr. Melissa Robinson-Brown, a psychologist in New York who works with young people.
“I think one of the reasons it’s pretty harmful is because especially with our generation today, so much of their time is spent on social media and on platforms like TikTok,” she told Insider.
“They’re building their communities, finding their tribe and their friends,” she added. “And so to see the transphobia, to see the negativity and the discrimination, can really be harmful to self-esteem-building and that sense of self-worth that is really just so critical for youth in general.”
Monger told Insider that while he could typically brush off hate-filled comments, he worried that the transphobia could affect other young and impressionable trans people on TikTok.
“I’m confident in myself, but there are kids who are not confident in their identity,” Monger said. “And seeing people say that they want to kill people really does not help them.”
Trans youth are at a higher risk than their peers of attempting suicide. A study published by the American Academy of Pediatrics in 2018 detailed a survey of about 120,000 young people, conducted from 2012 to 2015, in which 51% of trans boys and 30% of trans girls said they had attempted suicide, compared with 18% of cisgender girls and 10% of cisgender boys.
Trans TikTokers told Insider that hateful messages targeted their appearance or included problematic phrases like “What’s your real name?”
Mann, who said he had struggled with his appearance after multiple top surgeries – procedures to reshape the chest and remove breast tissue that left him with scars – said users left nasty comments about his body.
“People attack that all the time,” Mann said. “I’m still hoping to get them fixed.”
Mann shared with Insider four TikTok videos posted from April to June, each with more than 6,000 likes, that made fun of his chest. He said that he’d reported the videos to TikTok but that they weren’t removed.
TikTok removed all four of the videos after Insider flagged them.
“It makes me mad that they only removed them to seem to cover their a–,” Mann said.
Jade Marie Eichelberger, a 19-year-old trans woman from South Carolina, told Insider that her experience with transphobia on TikTok involved users’ desire to hear details of her transition and the trauma of being a Black trans woman.
“They really want you to talk about everything trans-related, down from the surgeries to how it makes you feel and how people treat you,” she said. “And sometimes you don’t really want to think about that or create about that, because cisgender people are not pressured to make videos about their trauma.
“Especially trans women of color, we’re always pressured to tell stories of things that have happened to us, because people want to use us as an example as to why people should be nicer to trans folks,” she added. “They always go for the people who were the most marginalized within the community to hear those sad and traumatic stories.”
Eichelberger said her videos that homed in on her transition or her experience as a trans woman performed well, but her videos about other topics seemed to fall out of favor.
She and other trans creators often field inappropriate and transphobic requests from TikTok users asking them to show their “real voice” or to upload pictures from their childhood, she said.
She added that while some creators might not have a problem with that, the requests and pressure to make that kind of content were rude and transphobic, implying that her identity is part of a performance.
“I don’t really feel comfortable with doing that,” Eichelberger said. “Am I ashamed of my childhood pictures? Hell to the hell no. I was a cute kid. But because I know why people want to see them, it makes me uncomfortable.”
Whitley said she’d had to alter how she operates on TikTok after receiving a series of transphobic comments that were fueled by a popular TikTok creator.
Chris, known on the app as @Donelij, would use the split-screen duet feature to react to videos of gay and trans creators. Chris’ smile would turn into a frown as videos of people skirting gender norms or photos displaying a person’s transition appeared. His videos would often get more than a million views. When his account was banned, he had 2.5 million followers.
“He just kept dueting them over and over and sending thousands of transphobes to me,” Whitley said.
While TikTok banned his first account last year, Chris continued to post videos to millions of followers using other accounts. TikTok banned an account he was using in February after Insider inquired about it.
Chris told Insider he was “not transphobic” and declined to comment further. Last year, he told The New York Times that he had been the target of racist harassment on TikTok. His facial expressions’ were meant as jokes, he said.
For Whitley, the videos had consequences that were far from funny.
Whitley said she’d had to limit comments on her content to prevent users from sharing her deadname (the name she went by before her transition), her address, and her phone number, all of which she said people had threatened to post.
Whitley said that since the duets stopped, some of the negative attention had subsided – but she estimated that about half of the comments she receives are negative or outwardly transphobic. She said she’d become “desensitized” to them.
“I don’t take them to heart,” Whitley said. “I’m stronger than that, and it kind of just boosts my engagement. I’m just going to take it as a positive and move on instead of focusing on their negativity.”
In the November general election, a number of LGBTQ candidates won races across the US in a phenomenon that’s been dubbed the “rainbow wave.”
Several winners made history, including the first Black gay members of Congress, the first transgender state senator in Delaware, and the first nonbinary state legislator.
Andrew Reynolds, a professor at Princeton University who studies LGBTQ+ people in politics, said the wins were more a “splash” than a “wave,” noting that the gains coincided with existing trends.
What’s more notable, he said, was the diversity among the winners, including more wins for female, nonbinary, and nonwhite LGBTQ+ candidates.
Anisse Parker, the president of the Victory Fund and former mayor of Houston, Texas, told Insider that in recent elections, LGBTQ+ candidates have been about 30% more diverse than the candidate pool at-large.
Stephanie Byers wasn’t a career politician, but last month, the 57-year-old retired high school band and orchestra director from Wichita won a race to become the first openly trans legislator in the Kansas House of Representatives.
Byers, who taught for 32 years before she retired in 2019, is one of a growing number of LGBTQ individuals in the US who has successfully sought elected office.
Two gains were made in Congress: Ritchie Torres and Mondaire Jones, both Democrats from New York, who were elected to serve as the first openly gay Afro-Latino and Black men in Congress, respectively. The election of Torres and Jones brings the total of LGBTQ representation in the US House to nine, as NBC News reported.
There are two openly LGBTQ senators, Sen. Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin and Sen. Krysten Sinema of Arizona, marking 11 members of Congress from the LGBTQ community.
And in California, Todd Gloria, the former San Diego city council member and member of the state assembly, was elected San Diego Mayor, joining Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot as the second currently serving out gay mayor of a major US city.
“Wichita is a conservative city but leans purple,” Byers said. “It’s also a place where I found acceptance when I transitioned to be my authentic self. I figured there’d be some sort of pushback because I had taught at one school since 1991.”
But when she came out in 2014, the negative reaction she anticipated never materialized. She worried an angry parent might show up to a school board meeting to take issue with her transition, but no one did. Her run for office was largely similar, she said.
On Election Day, Byers said a journalist had approached an older man exiting his polling location, and the voter said he’d cast his ballot for Byers’ opponent. However, he told the reporter it had nothing to do with her being transgender – he just wasn’t a fan of her politics, she said.
Byers pushed for better funding for local public schools, Medicaid expansion, and a need to update the unemployment system in Kansas.
“Maybe here in Wichita we’ve pushed the door open a bit, so people realize that someone’s status as a member of the LGBTQ community is just one part of who they are. It’s not their whole identity,” Byers said.
Nearly 600 miles southwest of Wichita, Rep.-elect Brittney Barreras in Albuquerque, New Mexico also spent election night celebrating a historic victory. Barreras was elected as the first openly lesbian member of the New Mexico House of Representatives.
Barreras said her identity as a gay woman hadn’t played a major role in how she campaigned for the seat. Instead, she centered her campaign around the issues that mattered to voters in her district.
“Being that I’m gay, I knew that it was going to be hard,” Barreras told Insider. “I don’t look like other politicians. I don’t sound like other politicians.”
But Barreras, who ran as a declined-to-state candidate, said she didn’t enter the race because she’s a part of the LGBTQ community.
“At the end of this,” she said, “I got involved because I’m part of District 12, and because I think I can represent all different families.”
Annise Parker, the former mayor of Houston, Texas, and current president of the Victory Fund, a political action committee dedicated to electing LGBTQ leaders, told Insider that despite clearly shifting attitudes, homophobia and transphobia aren’t exactly relics of a bygone era.
Parker, who served as one of the first elected lesbian mayors in US history from 2010 until 2016, pointed toward the attacks faced by Colorado State Rep. Brianna Titone, who in 2019 became the first openly transgender state legislator in her state.
During her reelection campaign this year, Titone faced multiple instances of transphobia, including robocalls that claimed she intended to force a “radical sexual agenda on every Coloradan” and other smears that referenced her deadname, the name she used prior to her transition, as CPR News reported in October.
“It’s a mixed bag,” Parker said. “I will say that every year we see less and less of that. It used to be a dog whistle, where an opponent will say ‘I don’t think it should be an issue my opponent is gay’ – making it an issue but not attacking overtly.”
LGBTQ winners are now coming from more diverse backgrounds
Candidates from the LGBTQ community are often more diverse than candidates at large, Parker told Insider. Victory Fund data suggests that their candidates over the past several election cycles were approximately 30% more diverse than candidates at large, she said.
“Looking back over the last cycle, our candidates are significantly more diverse than the general candidate pool, which frankly tends to be white men,” she said.
Andrew Reynolds, a research scholar and lecturer at Princeton University who studies LGBTQ politics, said overall, queer candidates and politicians are trending more diverse, which is more in line with the LGBTQ community as a whole.
“Almost uniformly the LGBTQ community has historically been represented by white gay men,” Reynolds told Insider. “They’ve led the fundraising, the advocacy, they’ve held the political leadership with elected office.”
“Now,” he added, “we’re seeing women and women of color, and increasingly trans and gender-nonconforming people being elected. If you believe that reflecting the community is a normative good, then this is what the new leadership is doing. Not completely, but overall, it’s reflecting the community at large.”
The Victory Fund, which supports candidates from all political parties, helped elect Eddie Mannis, a gay Republican in the Tennessee state legislature. Also in Tennesse, it helped elect Torrey Harris, a Democrat, who is Black and bisexual.
Barrera, who is Latinx, told Insider, “Growing up, I didn’t have someone locally who I could look up to and say ‘that person looks like me, and I can do that someday.’ If I could be that person for somebody else – some person in my community – that’s what this is all about.”
She said the so-called “rainbow wave” is the latest indication that attitudes toward the queer community are shifting.
“It shows that the way our families look is changing, so the people representing our families are changing too,” she added.
Reynolds told Insider data suggests that while attitudes toward LGBTQ candidates have shifted as a whole, how people perceive gay and trans candidates continues to depend on their political ideology.
For some progressive voters, he said, a candidate’s gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender identity can be a positive, even providing candidates with a slight boost at the polls.
“Being LGBT actually says to voters that this candidate is more inclusive, empathetic, and more demonstrative of what we want America to look like,” Reynolds said. “And so, you literally get a 1, 2, or 3 % bump for being queer in the right type of districts.”
In other, more conservative districts, LGBTQ candidates can still face a penalty with voters because of their identities, but even that’s becoming rarer, especially among gay and lesbian candidates, he added. Reynolds said LGBTQ candidates often face voters’ perception of whether they’re electable or not.
“Voters almost sense the field of candidates before they even start because they think ‘who can win,’ he told Insider. “The expectation about who can win isn’t actually based in reality, but if enough people believe it, it’s a self-reinforcing prophecy.”
Despite the supposed “rainbow wave,” 2020 wins weren’t as groundbreaking as some had hoped
Reynolds said that gay and trans wins in 2020 weren’t all that surprising, given that the results are part of a general trend toward “slow incremental gains” for queer representation in politics.
“This isn’t a big Tsunami. It’s not a big wave. I characterize it as a splash,” he said. “I characterize the most exciting part of the election as the type of people from the community who are being elected. I don’t think the numbers are earth-shattering.”
Parker noted several disappointing losses for LGBTQ candidates, including at the highest office.
“Pete was a game-changer,” Parker said. “He completely transformed for most people what’s possible in American politics.”
“He reduced the hurdle for the next person,” Parker added. “He demonstrated to moderates, independents, and even Republicans that the gay man doesn’t have to frighten you.”
Losses were also felt at the congressional level, where some candidates failed to win their contentious races. Democrat Gina Ortiz Jones, who is openly lesbian and a veteran of the US Air Force, failed to win her race to become the first LGBTQ elected to Congress from Texas. Democrat Jon Hoadley likewise lost his bid to become the first openly LGBTQ person elected to Congress from Michigan, as them reported.
“We didn’t win in some places where we hoped to get congressional seats, but those seats are all about the federal level and presidential politics,” Parker said.
Looking forward, Parker said the Victory Fund had its sights set on electing LGBTQ candidates in three statehouses that haven’t yet elected an openly queer person: Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alaska.