We Are Still Winning: Quiet Joys in a Loud World

Written By Allie

Every morning, before my mind fully wakes, I brace for the barrage: more bathroom bans, new anti-trans bills, another court fight. The rainbow community, especially trans folks and BIPOC communities, can feel locked into a permanent defensive crouch. National headlines often treat our existence as a flashpoint rather than a community. And honestly? That constant drumbeat is exhausting.

But here’s the fuller truth I refuse to let go of: far from the cameras and the outrage algorithms, our people keep building. Quiet victories are unfolding every day — beds made, meals shared, flags raised, elders housed, teens welcomed, neighbors protected. These wins don’t lead the six o’clock news. They don’t spike ratings. But they change lives.

So I collected a handful of stories, most from places where we’re told there’s no hope, and I’m sharing them here as a love letter to us. Call this a field report from the other side of the narrative: soft-spoken, deeply felt, and stubbornly optimistic. Even in the hardest states and the hardest seasons, we are still winning.

1) Ace’s Place in Queens: A Beacon of Trans Futures

Let’s begin in Long Island City, Queens, where New York City quietly and beautifully made history this month. Ace’s Place opened its doors as the first city-funded homeless shelter exclusively for transgender and gender-nonconforming people. One hundred fifty beds. That may sound like numbers, but to me, each bed is a breath of safety, a small chapter of dignity.

What makes Ace’s Place remarkable is not only its size but its wraparound care. The facility offers mental health support, job placement, culinary and GED classes, and assistance transitioning into permanent housing. It is run with heart by Destination Tomorrow, a Bronx-based LGBTQ+ organization. The city committed multi-year funding through 2030 because stable housing is a prerequisite to stable everything: work, wellness, belonging.

When I read about Ace’s Place, I thought of all the nights I’ve spent staring at the ceiling and wishing policy makers could feel what we feel: that home isn’t only four walls; it’s a place where your pronouns are respected, your safety is non-negotiable, and your future feels possible. Ace’s Place is a love letter from a city to its trans residents: we see you. We’ll fight for you. We’ll house you. And even if the national narrative says otherwise, we’ll keep proving that care is a public value, not a private luxury.

2) Brave Local Leaders Where Pride Refuses to Be Banned

If national politics can feel like a wedge between us and basic dignity, local leaders often step in quietly and bravely to fill the gap. Two western cities in states with hardline legislatures offer a master class in creative courage.

In Salt Lake City, Utah, state lawmakers passed a broad flag ban aimed at removing non-official banners, including Pride and Trans flags, from government buildings. Instead of backing down, Mayor Erin Mendenhall and the City Council moved swiftly. They adopted new official city flags that incorporate Pride and Trans colors into the city’s Sego Lily emblem. With one elegant civic act, they turned a prohibition into protection. It wasn’t about scoring points; it was about saying, in law and in love, that queer people are part of the city’s very fabric.

Just over the border in Boise, Idaho, a similar ban arrived. The response? Mayor Lauren McLean and the City Council declared the Pride flag an official city flag. Boise chose not to retreat from values nearly a decade in the making. I think about young people walking past their city hall and seeing, in the most public of spaces, a symbol that says: you belong here. That matters. Symbols aren’t just fabric; they are public hearts beating outside your window.

These acts may look symbolic, but they are substantive. In places where our visibility is politicized, leaders used municipal law to build a shelter of light. They risked blowback because protecting dignity is worth it, and they offer a replicable blueprint for other cities navigating hostile state policies.

3) Law Harrington Senior Living Center: Queer Elders at Home (Houston, TX)

Across the country, queer elders are often pushed to the margins, priced out of neighborhoods they built, and forced to hide who they are to access care. Houston’s Law Harrington Senior Living Center answers that with a full-hearted yes to safety, affordability, and joy. It is the largest LGBTQ-affirming affordable senior complex in the nation, with independent apartments and community spaces designed for dignity and connection.

I picture lunchtime there: a dining room full of chatter, a flash of sequins from a resident’s jacket, a plate of something warm passed across a table. Staff and neighbors greet each other by first names. No one is asked to split themselves in two to be served. There’s a gym and a dog park, game rooms, and programming that acknowledges community history. In a state where the legislature has taken aim at trans healthcare and basic recognition, Law Harrington quietly insists that our elders deserve ease. It’s not flashy; it’s foundational.

4) The Montrose Center: 47 Years of Tender, Fierce Advocacy (Houston, TX)

Law Harrington didn’t appear out of thin air. It belongs to the Montrose Center, an institution that has steadied Houston’s LGBTQ+ community for nearly five decades. Under the leadership of Avery Belyeu, the first openly transgender leader of a center its size, Montrose has weathered an onslaught of bills and political headwinds. And still, they serve tens of thousands every year with mental health services, housing supports, youth programming, and community space.

There is a special kind of courage in capacity building. Passing a law gets headlines. Building a clinic, a shelter, a counseling program — that’s the work that endures. Montrose is a reminder that while some try to legislate us out of public life, our institutions are patiently and persistently laying down the infrastructure of care.

5) Upstate Pride SC: Quiet Power in the Deep South

Let’s head to South Carolina’s upstate, where queer visibility is often painted as improbable. Upstate Pride SC proves otherwise. Through education, health fairs, Black Pride Week, support groups, and affirming public events, they cultivate belonging. It’s grassroots and it’s gorgeous: neighbors taking care of neighbors, one porchlight and potluck at a time.

I love their ethos: amplify acceptance, provide practical help, and keep showing up. There is nothing theoretical about it. This is community maintenance, the work of stitching dignity into daily life. You can feel the throughline: if the state house refuses us, the clubhouse down the street says come in.

6) Brave Space Alliance: A Black and Trans-Led Sanctuary (Chicago, IL)

On Chicago’s South Side, Brave Space Alliance has built something profoundly hopeful: a Black-led, trans-led LGBTQ+ center that puts mutual aid and housing at the core. Their housing program provides temporary residence for up to 18 months in an affirming environment, with wraparound support to help community members take their next steps. It is the sort of practical care that turns fear into future, providing stability you can hold in your hands.

Threading the Needle: What These Wins Have in Common

These stories span urban cores and smaller cities, blue coasts and red legislatures. What they share is a stubborn commitment to dignity and a belief that the public square belongs to all of us — on the street, in a shelter, and above a city hall.

  • They are rooted in resilience. Even where laws are hostile, local communities keep crafting love-driven solutions.

  • They look far into the future. From senior housing to youth programs, these wins plan for decades, not news cycles.

  • They are led by neighbors. The heroes here are not always famous, but they are deeply effective.

If you only read national headlines, you might believe we’re losing everywhere at once. The ground truth is more complicated, and far more hopeful. Local wins are blooming in places that outsiders often write off. Hope is not a theory; it is a practice.

A Love Letter to Us — and a To-Do List

Here’s what I want us to hold: there is bad news, yes. But there is also this. Ace’s Place turning keys and turning pages. Flags protected in hostile climates. Elders eating together without fear. Youth finding mentors. Black and trans-led groups building homes and redistributing care. The story of this moment is not only what we’re losing; it is how we keep making more of what we need.

What we can do next:

In between the headlines, we are building. We are shielding. We are healing. And yes, we are still winning.

Allie
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Activism w/ Perspective: Fighting Loudly, Loving Strategically