Activism w/ Perspective: Fighting Loudly, Loving Strategically

Introduction

Activism is a sacred labor—born from pain, sustained by hope, and driven by a vision of a better world. It demands resilience, empathy, and most of all, perspective. In today’s world, where progress can feel both rapid and glacial, it’s easy to confuse disappointment with betrayal, and frustration with failure. But we must take care: not every trans elected official must lead with their identity. Not every ally must be loud. And not every setback is a sign of surrender.

This is not a call to quiet down. Quite the opposite. We must keep shouting. We must keep organizing, educating, marching, and disrupting when necessary. But we must also remember that movements are long, and victories are layered. They are won in courtrooms, in backrooms, in ballot boxes—and yes, in uncomfortable, quiet compromises.

Let us revisit the stories of movements that have shaped this nation. The women’s suffrage movement. The civil rights movement. Let’s understand the slow churn of progress and the balance between activists and elected officials. Let’s celebrate the necessity of both roles—and the limitations they each must wrestle with.

The Myth of the Single-Issue Representative

The expectation that any marginalized person who steps into political office must become a full-time symbol of that identity is a dangerous one. Yes, representation matters. And yes, a trans lawmaker's presence is itself a revolutionary act. But these individuals were not elected solely to be icons. They were elected to serve—and that service must encompass every constituent in their district, not only the LGBTQ+ community.

That doesn’t mean we let silence or inaction slide. Accountability is key. But there’s a difference between constructive accountability and purity politics. We must resist the urge to cannibalize our own movement by calling for the removal of trans politicians who don’t center their entire legislative agenda around trans identity.

Identity can inform action, but it should not be weaponized as a measuring stick for worthiness.

Lessons from the Women’s Suffrage Movement

The women’s suffrage movement in the United States was not a singular, sweeping success. It was a bitter, fractured, and decades-long struggle marked by internal disagreements and slow legislative advances. The fight for the 19th Amendment began in earnest in the mid-1800s—but it wasn’t ratified until 1920. And even then, it excluded many women of color.

Some of the most prominent voices—Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton—were deeply flawed in their approach to intersectionality. They sidelined Black suffragists and framed white womanhood as more “worthy” of enfranchisement. Yet, their activism still moved the needle.

Meanwhile, activists like Ida B. Wells and Mary Church Terrell continued to fight on dual fronts—for gender equality and racial justice. They were often overlooked or outright rejected by white-led feminist organizations. Still, they persisted. Their advocacy wasn’t always reflected in the laws of their day—but it laid the groundwork for the future.

The lesson here? Progress is rarely clean or equitable. It is often marred by contradiction. But the change that eventually comes is built on the backs of many—not just the few who were visible at the top.

The Civil Rights Movement: Loud Voices, Strategic Patience

When we remember the civil rights movement, we often picture Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., standing at the Lincoln Memorial, thundering “I have a dream.” But for every King, there were thousands of organizers working quietly—often invisibly—in communities across the country.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 did not spring forth from inspiration alone. They were the result of relentless pressure campaigns, legal challenges, marches, boycotts, and negotiations. Activists did not stop yelling. But they also understood the power of strategy and timing.

Consider John Lewis—a man who was both activist and lawmaker. He knew what it meant to bleed on the Edmund Pettus Bridge and what it meant to compromise in Congress. His legacy is a masterclass in duality.

And yet, even Lewis was sometimes criticized by younger activists who wanted faster, more radical change. That criticism was part of a healthy tension between generations—but it did not require his erasure or rejection.

Activists and Elected Officials: A Necessary Dance

Activists are not meant to be liked. We are meant to challenge, to provoke, to stir the pot. Elected officials, meanwhile, must build coalitions, navigate bureaucracy, and represent a broad spectrum of voices—including some that are in direct opposition to ours.

The relationship between activists and lawmakers must be symbiotic. One pushes from the outside, the other maneuvers from within. We must be wary of trying to collapse these roles into one.

A trans state representative who supports public education funding, tenant protections, and racial justice but doesn’t sponsor a new trans healthcare bill every session is not abandoning their community. They are doing their job. Our job, as activists, is to make the next trans bill impossible to ignore. Not to punish our allies for having multiple priorities.

Navigating Disappointment Without Turning on Each Other

We will be disappointed. That is the nature of activism. We ask for the moon and get a paper lantern. But we cannot confuse disappointment with betrayal. We cannot afford to eat our own in the name of ideological purity.

Trans people—especially trans women of color—are under siege in this country. We are being legislated out of existence in some states, ignored in others, and tokenized in many. This is not the time to alienate the few who have made it into the rooms where decisions are made. Hold them accountable, yes—but with compassion and context.

And we must also be strategic in choosing our battles. Take, for example, the fight for trans inclusion in sports. In early 2025, Eliza Munshi, a senior at Falls Church High School in Virginia, competed briefly with the girls’ track team before state policy abruptly changed, barring her from participating. She later joined the boys' team to avoid penalties for her school—despite having no competitive advantage—and described the experience poignantly: “Sometimes I forget I’m transgender. People around me forget too.”

This issue has been weaponized beyond recognition. While we know the fight is just—while we know inclusion is non-negotiable—the unfortunate reality is that there is, at present, no national palate for it. The conversation has been so twisted, so saturated with misinformation and fear-mongering, that we may need to place that particular fight further down the road.

This isn’t surrender. It’s not abandoning the mantra, “If one of us isn’t free, then none of us are.” It’s about paving the road with the battles where we can build consensus and momentum—so that, when the time comes to take up the fight again, we are stronger, louder, and harder to ignore.

Strategic patience does not mean complacency. It means investing our energy where we can make change today, while never losing sight of the fights we’ll take up tomorrow.

Let us also be honest with ourselves: sometimes the loudest critics are not the most involved. Keyboard warriors who drag public officials online often fail to show up at school board meetings, testify at hearings, or volunteer at mutual aid events. Rage is easy. Movement work is hard.

The Power of Local Action and Long-Term Vision

Change doesn’t only happen at the federal level. Some of the most impactful queer-affirming policies begin at the city council, school board, and county supervisor levels. Don’t wait for the next trans senator to save you. Be the trans candidate who runs. Be the volunteer who canvasses. Be the neighbor who educates. Be the witness who shows up when others stay silent.

Change also doesn’t happen on a one-year timeline. The civil rights movement spanned generations. The LGBTQ+ rights movement—stretching back to the Mattachine Society, the Compton’s Cafeteria riot, and Stonewall—is still unfinished. Let us commit to playing the long game.

A Call to Stay Loud and Stay Strategic

Here is what we must do:
- Keep marching. Protest is visibility, and visibility brings power.
- Keep organizing. Systems don’t collapse because of a hashtag. They collapse from pressure and planning.
- Keep educating. Silence is often the result of ignorance, not malice.
- Keep voting. It’s not everything, but it’s still something.
- Keep creating. Art is activism. Joy is resistance. Queer life itself is defiant.
- Keep perspective. Not every disagreement is disloyalty. Not every politician is a savior. Not every setback is the end.

Conclusion: The Future Is Collective

We are all necessary in this fight. The disruptors and the diplomats. The radicals and the reformers. The queer elders and the new generation.

Let’s be clear-eyed about the work ahead. Let’s be relentless in our advocacy and generous in our solidarity. Let’s demand better without destroying our own.

The arc of the moral universe bends toward justice—but only if we pull together.

And we will.