Queer Resilience in a Divided America: Reflecting on Hope, Visibility, and Resistance in 2025

A Year of Reckoning

As we enter 2026, the United States feels suspended in a moment of collective fatigue. Political hostility and cultural division defined much of 2025, leaving many LGBTQ+ people uncertain about what lies ahead. Yet amid the noise, queer voices continue to rise—defiant, reflective, and deeply human—reminding us that strength is forged not in comfort, but in conviction.

However, looking back on 2025 reveals something enduring: a wellspring of hope that calls us to keep pushing forward, to come together, and to love one another through adversity. Optimism isn’t naïve; it is grounded in the understanding that progress often moves in cycles. Even in darker times, queer people have consistently found ways to create light, connection, and change.

From historians and activists to performers and everyday storytellers, each voice reflects a shared truth: while progress may stall, queer identity remains unshakable. “We’ve been through some pretty tough shit,” said Greg Newton, co-owner of New York’s Bureau of General Services—Queer Division. “This isn’t the first time. This is not new. We’ve made it through before.”

It is that enduring spirit—the knowledge that our community has persisted through darker times—that gives this moment its quiet, steadfast hope. But this enduring spirit isn’t just a feeling. It’s rooted in the stories, struggles, and triumphs of those who came before us. History, after all, is one of the queer community’s most powerful tools for resilience and resistance.

History as Resistance

History has always been one of the queer community’s greatest weapons against erasure. As LGBTQ+ historian and founder of Christopher Street Tours Michael Venturiello observed, “Every single thing that we say on our tours… is now considered a radical statement to some extent. Just the fact that we’re talking about trans people on our tour outside of the Stonewall Inn where they’ve erased the word ‘transgender,’ that is a radical act of resistance and hope.”

The fight to preserve queer history is not simply about remembrance, but about truth-telling in an era when truth itself is under siege. Keith Stern, author of Queers in History, reflected on this urgency: “The objective of not only the U.S. government, but some other governments around the world seems to be to rewrite history to suit their own purposes. History is the truth, and the more of the truth we can get from our history, the better.”

Through storytelling, education, and archiving, LGBTQ+ historians and writers are not just keeping history alive, but are also ensuring the next generation knows it was always here. Yet, knowing our history is only part of the battle. The present day brings its own pressures, challenging the ways queer people connect, organize, and assert their place in society.

Community Under Pressure

For many, 2025 brought a sense of déjà vu—a return to old fears wrapped in new language. “There is now a push to really silence this history, silence visibility,” said author Chris Holcombe. His reflection on queer life in the 1920s feels hauntingly familiar today: a society torn between progress and regression, where moralists once again seek to dictate the terms of existence.

That pushback has also fractured parts of the modern movement. “What really pisses me off is I feel so used by cis people,” said Sal Zambito. “Oh, so now we’re ‘normal gays’? You're gonna splinter our community and take our most vulnerable, smallest part of our community, our trans brothers and sisters, and pick on them? Go fuck yourselves.” His outrage speaks to a deep frustration that unity, the very thing that made the queer rights movement powerful, now feels harder to sustain.

Political rhetoric only adds fuel to this fire. Mike Keller, an author and speaker focused on raising bullying awareness, explained: “I think it's human nature that that people are using this political landscape as an excuse…to really put down other groups.”

Yet, even amid exhaustion and disillusionment, queer leaders continue to find ways to transform anger into action. “Protect your peace,” advised Greg Baird, a global lecturer and educator on LGBTQIA+ civil rights. “Do what you can that you feel safe in getting allies, being together—we all need to look out for one another.”

Ann Russo, a religious trauma and queer empowerment specialist and founder of AMR Therapy, echoes this focus on self-care and community support: “Try to do some things where you can relax as best as you possibly can. And also staying diligent is important because…we have to keep ourselves safe too.”

This guidance highlights that resilience isn’t only about fighting back, but also about pacing oneself, protecting mental health, and leaning on trusted communities as acts of resistance in themselves. Alongside self-care, another crucial form of resilience is visibility—the act of showing up, being seen, and refusing to be erased, even when doing so comes at a personal cost.

Visibility and the Cost of Courage

Visibility remains both a shield and a target. “They are trying very hard to shove us all back into the closet and annihilate us,” said Mike Johnson co-host of Gayish. “The only way to combat that is to be as in their face as [much as] possible. If you can be out and be a pain in their ass, you absolutely should.”

Kyle Getz, his cohost, echoes this: “Learning to embrace and live in your authenticity, I think, is one way to combat the expectations that people have of gay people.”

For some, that visibility takes the form of celebration. “Do we need another circuit party? Maybe,” said somatic sex educator Court Vox. “But is it also about being visible, standing with each other, and saying, we actually have solidarity with one another. We are a large group of humans, and we are proud, and we stand together.”

For others, it’s professional. At a time when diversity initiatives are being rolled back, advocacy organizations are fighting harder than ever to preserve inclusion. “It’s not only a detriment to queer people to roll back these DEI initiatives,” said Mari Nemec of the National LGBTQ+ Bar Association. “It’s also a detriment to the legal profession as a whole. When there are more seats at the table and more voices being heard, that’s going to lead to stronger arguments and more creativity.”

Visibility, then, is not just about being seen, but about asserting presence in spaces that would rather erase it. This assertion of presence extends beyond individual action; it thrives in culture itself. Queer art, performance, and media become living expressions of defiance and celebration, reminding the world that our stories, joy, and creativity cannot be silenced.

Culture as Resistance

Queer art and culture continue to thrive as vehicles for visibility and survival. Trans filmmaker AJ Mattioli pointed to the hypocrisy of corporate media: “To make money off of queer people on one end, and then the next minute, put Dave Chappelle’s special on—it just shows that you have no backbone.” In response, independent queer creators are building their own platforms, choosing integrity over convenience.

Similarly, queer comedy has emerged as both catharsis and rebellion. “Comedy is an essential space for release,” said comedian Michael John Ciszewski. “We’re fighting for our laughter. We’re fighting for our love. We’re fighting for our ability to gather and celebrate who we are.”

It’s a reminder that joy itself is political. Every laugh, every performance, every unapologetically queer story chips away at a system that thrives on silence. And this cultural resistance is mirrored in everyday acts of defiance—organizing Pride, creating online communities, and reclaiming narratives—demonstrating that courage takes many forms, both big and small.

Acts of Defiance, Large and Small

Even in moments of despair, the community’s instinct is to organize, to build, to keep going. Pride organizers like Patrick Gevas in Miami Beach are preparing for another uncertain year: “Everyone’s an ally until it hits their bottom line. But we can’t take Pride for granted. We have to show up, be visible, and support.”

Online creators, too, are finding new ways to connect and uplift. “Surround yourself with people who really care about you authentically,” said TikTok creator Nick Paul. “Vote, vote, vote. Try not to get drowned in it. Stay informed, but step away when you need to.”

And across mediums, artists like drag performer and author Jeza Belle are reclaiming narratives history has long denied. “It puts a marker in the sand and says to people, we were there,” she said. “The more we let people act like we are just a modern phenomenon, the more they’re going to continue to try to make us small. We’ve been here forever, and we will be here forever more.”

Carrying Hope Forward

As we turn the page on 2025, it’s easy to feel stuck in a rut, as if life has lost some of its color and energy. But this moment is also an invitation to pause, reflect, and listen to what we need. Maybe it’s leaning on a friend, seeking support from chosen family, or simply being in a queer space where you feel seen.

Whatever it is, these small acts of care are powerful, strategic ways to nurture the soul. While the political and cultural landscape may feel heavy, history reminds us that our community has always found ways to rise, to persevere, and to reclaim joy.

As we step into 2026, there is hope on the horizon: the opportunity to act intentionally, to protect what matters, and to embrace pleasure, connection, and queer joy as acts of resistance. No matter what challenges await, we will endure, we will thrive, and, above all, we will continue to be here.

And remember: every day is all we have, so you've got to make your own happiness.

For more information on this topic, listen to Episode 167. Best of Guests 2025: Politico Edition.

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