Ohio’s hostile politics have turned my friends into LGBTQ refugees, fleeing the state just to live in peace: – cleveland.com

CLEVELAND, Ohio — A couple weeks ago, a friend from high school sent me a text saying, “OMFG I can’t believe how awful things are!” Then I asked her if we could meet for lunch, because that’s what friends do when that kind of message comes along.

Over a lovely platter of fried appetizers, my friend told me she and her wife have decided they’re moving. First, they’ll leave Ohio for a safer state until their youngest graduates from high school. Then, they’ll leave the country. This is because they’ll do whatever it takes to provide for and protect their young trans daughter. She will need a lifetime of supportive healthcare, and Ohio seems hellbent on denying her.

So, basically, they’ll become LGBTQ refugees.

How in the world did we get here?

It was just 15 years ago, when Ohio’s first Pride Clinic opened its doors right here in Cleveland. It certainly wasn’t the first such care center in the country, but it was homegrown, the result of the persistent and courageous vision of a few local individuals. Ohio was cutting into new territory on the healthcare front.

I was fortunate enough to talk with one of the co-founders recently, Dr. Henry Ng. I wanted to know how he became a leader in LGBTQ healthcare that went beyond AIDS treatment. He kindly shared some of his story.

Back in 2005, Ng was a young doctor preparing his final residency presentation. During medical school, he had learned about queer healthcare by attending medical panel discussions, seminars on AIDS, and lectures on sexual and gender health. He decided his presentation would focus on the state of gay and lesbian healthcare.

Ng discovered his would be only the second presentation on the topic in the previous 20 years of the program. To prepare, he read everything he could find on queer care practices – reviewing 200+ research papers. By the time he had 70 slides for his presentation, he knew he had to do something to help. The need was too great. Ng believed everyone had the right to receive unbiased, respectful, competent medical care in a safe setting, and he wanted to help. His destiny found him.

Ng not only wanted to provide informed and equitable healthcare, but he also wanted it to encompass the intersectionality of the patients served. He knew firsthand that gays and lesbians (at the time, transexuals were very hidden) came in all colors, cultures, sizes, genders, professions, ages, and socio-economic backgrounds. He was determined to provide affirming medical care that acknowledged each patient’s overlapping identities and considered all their life factors.

Ng’s pioneering approach caught on, and today, every major hospital system in Northeast Ohio provides specialized care to the LGBTQ+ community, offering emotional and psychological support, gender affirming care and surgery, internal medicine, gynecology and obstetrics, cancer screenings, and more. Our state had its act together early compared to places like Northern Virginia, which saw its very first LGBTQ+ clinic open its doors last month.

Our clinics work hard to heal, help, and support a community that has suffered trauma and abuse on every side of life, from racist neighbors to abusive care providers. Not that long ago, some doctors caused emotional trauma and even sexually assaulted gay and lesbian patients. Sadly, there are still many physicians who are reluctant, disrespectful, or inexcusably ignorant when it comes to LGBTQ+ health needs. And way too many lack Ng’s vision of whole person care encompassing intersectional identities, pressures, and needs.

In my circle of friends there are a couple medical professionals. They strive to be sensitive to the intersectional burdens their queer patients face daily. Their compassion makes them reluctant to recommend eating more vegetables when they know the person lives in a food desert. They hesitate to demand someone drop a stress relief habit like smoking because they remember the person’s unending pressure from overlapping racism, ageism, ableism, discrimination, pandemic exhaustion, or…

The list goes on, and it’s way too long.

Yes — we’ve made a lot of progress. But now, incredibly, we are moving backward in Ohio.

House Bill 454 is still getting table time and seems destined to become law, while a Republican majority rules Ohio government. It will tie doctors’ hands and rip away parents’ rights to provide healthcare for their trans children. Abortion rights aren’t just about women’s healthcare – they’re also imperative for trans men and nonbinary adults. Body autonomy is under threat and healthcare inequities are increasing.

If new laws continue to sabotage LGBTQ healthcare, many of my friends will face hard decisions. To stay or go? Hide or fight? I foresee LGBTQ+ refugees seeking safety in the upper Northeast or Western coastal states where LGBTQ+ rights are protected by laws that have been established for decades. Some will go to distant countries just to be gay safely.

In the meantime, what can we do to counter the overwhelming loss of rights and the rampant disempowerment occurring at state and federal levels?

I believe we must be inspired through knowledge and compassion, as Ng was. Then we must yell, scream, and kick our way into our elected officials’ awareness, making clear our demands for equal and equitable rights, freedoms, and provisions.

Because, as a friend said recently, then, and only then – despite our exhaustion – can we hold our leaders accountable. We must hound them with hard questions, vote out the blockades, vote in the way-makers, and do whatever it takes to stop this awful slide backwards that is already driving people to leave our communities.

It took only a few to establish LGBTQ healthcare in Cleveland, but it’s going to take a multitude to preserve it. Those with opposing views must step back from trying to win an argument and, instead, step up to discover the common ground we share, upon which we can build empathy and increase compassion.

My wife and I are fortunate enough to be able to offer respite or even a place to hide if it comes to that. I hope it doesn’t.

Meanwhile, I’m gonna yell until I’m hoarse and write until my hands cramp. And – I’m going to miss my friends when they live far away just to live life.

Leslie Kouba, a lifetime resident of Northeast Ohio and mother of four completely grown humans, enjoys writing, laughing and living in Cleveland with her wife, five cats and a fat-tailed gecko named Zennis. You can reach her at LeslieKoubaPD@gmail.com.

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