As an ally to the LGBTQ+ community, I find myself looking at the world today with both heavy concern and unwavering resolve. The headlines are overwhelming—attacks on trans rights, censorship of queer voices, and the slow retreat of support in spaces that once claimed to be safe. But in the midst of it all, I want to say this: I see you, I hear you, and I stand with you.

Being an ally isn’t just about waving a rainbow flag in June or posting in solidarity when it’s trending. It’s about showing up, consistently, especially when times get hard. And right now, the community needs all of us—every voice, every vote, every act of support.

To my LGBTQ+ friends, family, and readers: you deserve to live out loud. You deserve joy, safety, love, and the freedom to be exactly who you are. And though the world may try to dim your light, I promise you—there are more of us who want to protect that light than extinguish it. Your fight is our fight.

This issue of PRIDE & Equality highlights the power of authenticity, the strength of solidarity, and the undeniable impact of community. Within these pages are stories that remind us how far we’ve come and how much further we’re willing to go—together.

If you’re feeling weary, know that it’s okay to rest, but never to give up. Change often comes slowly and with resistance, but history shows us it does come. And the louder we speak, the more we show up, the faster that change arrives.

To my fellow allies: this is not the time to be silent. Use your voice, your privilege, and your platform to uplift and protect. Because allyship is action. And love, when lived out loud, becomes a force no law or hate can silence. With love and commitment.

Teresa Robinson
Publisher / Editor-in-Chief
PRIDE & Equality Magazine

The nation watched with surprised shock back on January 21st at the sight of a national religious leader standing up for those she understands her Bible says to treat with mercy in a public rebuke to Donald Trump while he sat in a front row pew.

Mariann Edgar Budde, the Episcopal bishop of Washington, D.C., in a 15-minute sermon at a national prayer service at Washington’s National Cathedral, showed a seldom-seen courage by looking toward the new President while saying:

"Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you. And as you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian, and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives…."

"The people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meat packing plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals, they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation. But the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors…." 

"I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. And that you help those fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land."

On the other hand, it was no surprise she was immediately attacked by Donald and his usual sycophants. With their usual lies, slurs, and name-calling. One right-wing US Rep even responded, "The person giving this sermon should be added to the deportation list."

Most of them just continued to support the human cruelty she referenced. But she wasn't naïve enough to expect change from those who've attained their power and riches through such inhumanity – her motivation was to do the courageous thing at that moment out of the depth of her calling.

Bishop Budde is no stranger to the cause of justice. In her 2023 book, How We Learn to Be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith, she shares how she learned to be courageous through her faith, how often in life it needs to be seen publicly and privately, and how she has learned through sometimes very public trial and error.

She writes that our courage is required at times and in many ways when we need to decide to start something, come out for something, step up in public, or persevere in what we're already doing.  Quoting Anglo-Irish poet David Whyte:

"Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work, a future. To be courageous is not necessarily to go anywhere or do anything except to be conscious of those things we already feel deeply and then to live through the unending vulnerabilities of those consequences. To be courageous is to stay close to the way we are made."

One problem with judging whether we have done the courageous thing is that the cultural, media-driven, corporate-profitable models of "courage" we're supposed to applaud, are clickbait actions. Framed by dominant institutions, they make brave decisions every day people are expected to make, look routine and weak, and, convince us that we are without courage.

Bishop Budde includes stories of courage in her life that are private, "small" to her public stands, sometimes apparent failures, and as down-to-earth as our everyday living. As she puts it, "We learn to be brave throughout a lifetime, and in all aspects of life, especially when the courageous decisions we make are known only to God."

Courage is about making decisions based on the best information we have at the time and an analysis of what values we want to affirm for ourselves. Sometimes that's a decision to "come out" as a liberal person or an LGBTQ+ person, but sometimes it's brave to stay in.

Courage also means admitting our mistakes: "We need to be honest with ourselves and others when we make a mistake or we're brought to our knees. It's a way of living and leading with an undefended heart, truly open to others, and with a spine strong enough to withstand the experience, learn from it, and carry on."

And though we might decide to be brave despite our fears, that isn't the same as being brave only to assuage our guilt. That's why we might remember that courage rests in decisive moments, whether we choose to go or stay, change or persevere. 

No one needs any additional guilt from otherwise well-meaning people added to any they already have. As I’ve argued, "Guilt, a seemingly noble expression of justice, is a useful control mechanism for those protecting their power and prejudice. And even for the less powerful, dwelling on one's guilt helps us feel we're in control of what we probably are not."

Maybe our courage is expressed in starting a private group of individuals who are too vulnerable or afraid in this scary time, to do more than meet to support each other. Courage means seeing that a charity we love continues. 

Maybe it will be something like standing up in a meeting, saying, "No, I disagree," and sitting down. Perhaps the courage to keep still.
But for many in our society, courage is expressed by just making it through another day, another week, another presidency.

Bob Minor, Ph.D.
Professor Emeritus of Religious Studies, University of Kansas
Instagram: @rnminor, fairnessproject.org

When I started the magazine 21 years ago, the idea was to provide New Mexico with a written resource for the LGBTQIA+ community. The goal was to create a monthly publication. We learned that while the community was ready, businesses were not. We went from monthly to quarterly to annually—solely focusing on PRIDE in June, as that was the only time of year people seemed to focus on.

After years of progress, issues the community had fought for seem to resurface. Because of this, I decided to make PRIDE & Equality a quarterly publication. The key to changing the narrative is education. PRIDE & Equality Magazine strives to be a powerful resource for the community.

Along with the new quarterly publication schedule come a couple of additional changes. For 21 years, I have taken on multiple roles to produce this publication. To grow, I knew I needed to build a team. Please welcome Bradd Howard as the new Editor-in-Chief. I'm excited to see what vision he will bring to the magazine. Also, welcome new writers like Kelli Trapnell and Samantha Nagel, offering stories for and about the community.

We want to create conversations in the community. This year's cover story is an example of that. Identity has become a big topic in this country; many people feel it shouldn't be up to the individual to choose how they identify but to tradition. We're glad to sit down with Lance McDaniel, Rainbownita Taylor, and David Trujillo to discuss how they identify and how to change the narrative when talking about identity. Along with our cover story, we have memorials for Abraham L. Placencio OFs and Mauro Walden-Montoya (this year's Models of Hope honoree) and some food for thought from Augustine Montoya, to name a few.

Is this your first time experiencing this publication? Welcome! If you are returning, welcome back. This publication is for you. We hope you enjoy the changes. Happy Pride, everyone!

​Teresa Robinson
Publisher
PRIDE & Equality Magazine

In today's world, identity plays a crucial role in shaping individuals' lives and interactions. It influences how we perceive ourselves and how others perceive us. As young people, shaping our identities was strongly encouraged, a rite of passage, and how we built ourselves in the world. Now, others imprisoned in traditional thinking can make knowing who you are into a battle. 

To delve deeper into identity and belonging, we had the opportunity to interview three individuals with unique perspectives on identity: Lance McDaniel, Rainbownita Taylor, and David Trujillo. Through their insights and experiences, we hope to shed light on the significance of identity in the modern age and how we can change the narrative to get others to understand its importance. 

McDaniel, Taylor, and Trujillo share their life lessons and musings around community, belonging, and identity. Identity is more than just what we call ourselves because identity spans beyond a mere label (though a label may be a way to describe part of our identity). It is something sacred. It makes us so incredibly and uniquely who we are as individuals. While at the same time bringing us closer together. Many of us have multiple facets of our identity, and the words from McDaniel, Taylor, and Trujillo reinforce how important it is that we feel safe and comfortable bringing the entirety of our complex selves to our communities. Identity should not separate or isolate you—it is something to celebrate, not just accept. 

One of the questions we asked our interviewees was what their biggest challenge was living in the community. Their responses overwhelmingly showed a concern for the tension that exists in the community; bisexual people often confront discrimination in the LGBTQ+ community, and asexual individuals face doubt and dismissal about the validity of their identity. Trans-exclusionary feminists oppose transgender women's recognition as women, opposing their use of facilities for women and involvement in sports, and transgender adults have reported in a Data for Progress poll lower levels of belonging, with 59% feeling disconnected from U.S. society.

According to a survey by the Center for Inclusion and Belonging at the American Immigration Council, many Americans indicate feelings of non-belonging. "The Belonging Barometer: The State of Belonging in America" revealed that approximately 68% of respondents expressed a sense of not belonging in the country, with 74% feeling this in their local communities.

In an episode of the Man Enough Podcast, internationally acclaimed poet, comedian, public speaker, and actor Alok Vaid-Manon shared that this exclusion isn't limited to transgender individuals, as Lance McDaniel discusses in his interview. "People talk about trans issues as if it's unprecedented. The same tactics that they're doing against trans people, they did against Black people, Indigenous people, and people of color in this country in the early 20th century," Vaid-Menon said.

Our interviewees reiterated some form of the sentiment, "We cannot have community without unity." Community is, and has always been, one of the cornerstones of identity. In a 2023 study conducted by the National Institutes of Health, those who reported a positive sense of community, as compared to those with a negative sense of community, had significantly lower odds of experiencing symptoms of depression, anxiety, and stress. Author, civil rights leader, and champion for African-American equality Coretta Scott King once said, "The greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members."

If identity is the seed that makes us sprout into who we are, then community should be the garden in which it flourishes. When that garden is well taken care of by displaying curiosity for others, having respect for all, and always having an open mind and heart for those around us, the community is a force to be reckoned with. 

Community quite literally has the power to save lives and create ripples of change. The Hundredth Monkey Theory, inspired by observations of monkey behavior in Japan, suggests that when a crucial number of individuals alter their attitudes or actions, cultural change will follow. Initially considered improbable, these changes are adopted by a few individuals, then by many, become widespread norms, shaping our collective human behavior. 

As you read the wise words and reflections from Lance McDaniel, Rainbownita Taylor, and David Trujillo, keep this theory in mind, and let yourself wonder: how can I be the hundredth monkey in my community? Or, how can I be a compassionate pebble that creates waves of change for the better? What is your identity, and better yet, how can you be a kind, curious, and open-minded member of your circles?

Rainbownita Taylor
Rainbownita Taylor (she/her) is an Indigenous transgender woman who believes we can’t have a community without unity. For Taylor, fostering acceptance involves asking respectful questions. Taylor shared, “For example, ask someone their pronouns when you first meet them. If you make a mistake, apologize and show that you care by correcting it in the future.”

“We need, as a community, to stop bringing each other down,” Taylor states. “People make mistakes - it’s how they grow from those mistakes. It makes them human, and how they show you they’ve grown. If you don’t like someone, don’t like someone. But at the end of the day, if someone’s getting bullied, especially in the trans community or any community - Indigenous, white - if anyone is getting bullied for anything, it should stop immediately.

“It comes from working as a community. It’s about asking questions and how you ask the questions. It’s the tone you use. If you don’t know, you have to ask, and if someone says I don’t want to answer that question, you can’t force them to answer.” Taylor describes the many times she has been asked inappropriate questions after people learn she is trans. “Would you ask anyone else what is in their pants or dress? It’s about respect: if you wouldn’t ask anyone else, don’t ask me.”

Taylor also talks about wondering if she is passable in public. “I can go to a grocery store, and they can tell me they don’t want to serve me or help me because I am trans. Yes, I can wear as much makeup as I want, but sometimes it feels like I am hiding behind makeup to make myself passable in this community - in this world - and that scares me,” Taylor says. “It hurts because, even in my community, people tell me, “Well, you’re a guy,” or they make trans jokes, and it gets to me. I always have to remember I love myself, and I love what I do."

David Trujillo
David Trujillo (he/him), a proud Hispanic bisexual, shared the LGBTQ+ community needs to address the inner scrutiny for the community to be healthy. “Some people want to create factions when we are already separated enough,” Trujillo said. “People in other communities, like some religious communities, try their hardest to change people. Our biggest issue is also tackling social hurdles. Once we identify as a community, we can tackle them together. Our unity is our power.”

Trujillo agrees that acceptance comes from curiosity, not only through respectful questions and answers but also by respecting people as people. "First, we are people. I'm not less of a human because I am bisexual or Hispanic—no one is less than in the community we are a part of. We are people," he said. "I'm telling people who I am; I'm not asking, "Do you want to think of me as bisexual?" It's not up to them - you're telling them who you are. It's like when someone tells you their first name; it should be no different. You must be comfortable in your skin and who you are to exude confidence."

Not only do we need to be confident in what makes us ourselves, but we also need to see the LGBTQ+ community represented in leadership roles, community organizations, governments, and committees. "It means a lot to us to see someone that is a part of our community, that looks like us and is one of us," Trujillo said. "We also need LGBTQ+ icons for the LGBTQ+ community—we don’t need more straight icons. We need gay people in gay roles. We need trans people in trans roles."

To be a united community, we have to become comfortable within it. Trujillo says that once we are, "we can go to the outside, and that's the first step in terms of mobilizing and getting our boots, or large heels, off the ground, and showing people who we are, whether you like it or not, and make room, because I'm tired of sitting."

Lance McDaniel
Lance McDaniel (he/him) is a father, husband, Black, Indigenous, pansexual, transgender male. “There is a lot of outside pressure on the trans community to look and act a certain way,” McDaniel shares. “‘Passing’ goes back to African American people trying to appear as white as possible. It’s something that runs deep, and when you add the intersectionality of being a person of color and being trans, you experience trying to pass in both lanes.”

As McDaniel says, we are all just trying to live life day by day, so it is unsettling and uncalled-for how much judgment and vitriol the LGBTQ+ community experiences. “We should be able to leave our homes without worrying about whether we're going to make it back home because of our identity. I don’t have to pass to be a man; I am just a man, and that is the way it is. I don't want to hide the fact that I'm trans. I definitely pick and choose who and when I come out to, because some places feel less safe than others to do that.”

To McDaniel, acceptance comes from curiosity, particularly when people ask genuine and authentic questions about who he is and remember the answers. “For example,” McDaniel shares, “If I give someone my pronouns, or I tell someone that I’m trans, and they then take that information and bring it up later, that is really cool to me, because it means they were listening to what I was talking about and thought about it afterward. Acceptance comes from curiosity and actually wanting to know more about someone.

“We all have our own identity, just not everybody goes through the trouble of introducing themselves with those identities,” McDaniel states. “One day, we're going to get to a point where those pieces of our identities are just as trivial as being a Cowboys fan or having your favorite color be blue: it's just a part of who we are, just like other parts of our identities. It'll be trivial. It'll just be another piece of the puzzle of who we are.”

McDaniel believes that the way to get to that point is for everyone to acknowledge their own identities. “Just start with yourself,” he advises. “What makes you, you? And then, when someone is telling you the pieces of them that make them them, believe them.” We don’t owe anyone else the sharing of our identities, but when appropriate and safe, an open and curious dialogue helps us get to know each other more deeply. “Start a conversation, let's go back and forth,” McDaniel says. “It doesn't have to be hostile. That's where I think a lot of the change can come from.” - Samantha Nagel & Teresa Robinson

When I met Abraham, he was a sophomore in High School. I was a junior. It was at a school speech and debate festival while we, in theory, were competing against each other; in reality, we were establishing a lifelong friendship. At that moment, I would have never guessed that 44 years later, I would be seated at his funeral a couple of weeks before his 59th birthday. We celebrated all of the milestones - high school graduations, college graduations, birthdays, family events, etc., and supported each other in times of sorrow and heartbreak. Boyfriends came and went; we had something beyond a romantic bond—we were family. When we were in college (he in Phoenix, me in Santa Fe), we enjoyed an old-school friendship where we wrote letters and called each other long-distance - things not understood today. His outreach work started while he was in Phoenix, working for various AIDS organizations. He created Angelica Del Rio to raise money and fulfill his passion for performance art. He moved between Albuquerque and Phoenix several times over the decades that followed. But Angelica was the persona that would forever link him to outreach and activism. Our friendship changed over the years - balancing who was the anchor and who needed it. In the early 90s, I had the opportunity to follow in her footsteps and create a drag persona to do some outreach and charity fundraising. While she never accepted a Drag Mother role with Mahri-Achi LoRenz, the two forever become drag sisters. We even performed a few times at each other's events. The song "Bosom Buddies" from the musical Mame became our go-to number, but it also totally embraced what our friendship had developed over the years. When Angelica finally did give birth to drag daughters Gia and Raquel,  I became "Tia" - a title I cherish because it linked me to Abraham's love. The two of them made sure I got the news of Abraham's passing with that same love.
 
Abraham, and by extension, Angelica, found their way to public access TV with a short-lived show where they always focused on organizations that supported our community's needs. Abraham then turned his focus to homelessness. He worked for various non-profit organizations to find ways for a better life for those living on the streets. Faith was always important to Abraham, and it was no surprise to me when he decided to formally follow his call into the ministry. Again, it was a way for him to continue his outreach and share all the love that it took both Abraham and Angelica to share.
 
It might seem that 44 years of friendship has ended, but I know he is with me always. Just as his legacy will continue, so will our friendship. I am honored to pay homage to him here because he lived, making sure those around him lived with dignity and love. - Robb Anthony Sisneros

We are thrilled to welcome new honorees to the Models of Hope roster. The Vincent R. Johnson Models of Hope Award recognizes individuals and organizations who serve as inspiring role models in the community. This prestigious award has been given to exceptional individuals and companies for over 18 years. We are privileged to introduce the following honorees to our esteemed family. Join us for our Models of Hope Awards Gala on August 17th to celebrate. Learn more at myprideonline.com/models-of-hope.

In 2024, comedy has never been more popular. While some famous stand-up comedians have notoriously pivoted into homophobia and transphobia in the name of edginess, in Albuquerque, at least, the comedy scene is alive, well, and beautifully queer. 

For one thing, the 505 is one of the only cities in America with a queer-owned independent comedy club. Sarah Kennedy, an Albuquerque comedy veteran with over 15 years of experience telling jokes on national and local stages, opened Dry Heat Comedy Club in 2021 with her wife (yours truly), and the club has been crushing it ever since.

"Albuquerque has always been a place where people are allowed to live their lives and be who they are authentically," says Kennedy. "Comedy thrives when that's the case, so it's no surprise that queer comedy is also thriving. When folks are allowed to be themselves - when they're their funniest."

It’s true—these days, Albuquerque boasts a healthy (and hilarious) queer contingent of new up-and-comers. One of these newbies is Sarina Ochoa, who started comedy just two months before taking home second place (out of 64!) in the annual One Liner Madness competition. 

"I'm so lucky to have started comedy here because everyone is incredibly supportive," says Ochoa. "There seem to be almost as many women (and nonbinary folks) in the scene as men, of which many are queer as well."

One of the most prominent Queer comedians in the scene right now is Carla Vasquez, who has been doing stand-up for nearly five years. Vasquez regularly jokes about her queerness on stage, "Comedy has helped me explore my own identity." She's not the only one who mines her experience as a Queer person for material on stage, though.

Alex Slim and June Opal are two trans women who regularly get on stage in Burque. Slim has been doing stand-up and improv in the scene for several years and traveling. She took classes from the Groundlings in LA, who famously influenced many queer icons, like Paul Reubens, Cassandra Peterson, and countless others. On the other hand, Opal, who has long been a musician, has only rounded the corner of her first year doing stand-up, but she's well-liked on and off-stage all over Albuquerque.

"That is the beauty of being queer—you have already done a lot of the work to be true to yourself," Opal says. "My identity has influenced my comedy by giving me a unique perspective on the world, influenced by my own experiences."

She isn't the only convert from music to comedy—Alex Bachicha, or "Leka" as they call themself on comedy stages, got into stand-up after being the vocalist/lyricist in Wounded Silence (where they still belt it out everywhere from Launchpad to Echoes and more). They're a force to be reckoned with whenever they're on stage.

But Queer comedians are not just coming from other art forms - they're moving into town, too. Charm Baxter is a recent transplant from Florida. While she's been doing stand-up for a while now, she's new to the Albuquerque scene, tearing up every stage she's on. 

Nax moved to Albuquerque after some time away, and now that they're back in New Mexico, they run a weekly mic and a monthly stand-up showcase in Nob Hill. "There's real crafted comedy happening right now. I'm stoked to be here nurturing this form of expression," says Nax.

No matter who your favorite Queer comedian in Albuquerque is or whether you're just now acquainting yourself with them, one thing is for sure. When it comes to stand-up comedy, you don't have to look far to find some funny fam. - Kelli Trapnell

What does being LGBTQIA+ mean to you? For me, it means that I have a community in this world that sees me for who I am and understands what it takes to survive the turbulent and often dangerous society around us in America. In writing this article, I do so from the perspective of a gay cis-gendered man from rural New Mexico. I have run for public office in my rural community and have even been a part of the larger conversation surrounding our quality of life throughout the state. 

However, this is not where my story began. It has been a long and arduous path paved by the LGBTQIA+ people who came before me, and I am profoundly thankful. Along my journey, it has been my life’s work to uplift and elevate those around me because our voices, as LGBTQIA+, BIPOC, and other marginalized people, matter in the fight for equity and equality. 

To achieve equality and equity, we cannot stand alone or silo off from the rest of our communities. No movement, political, social, or otherwise, has successfully been accomplished alone; it requires everyone to be engaged and aware of what the end goal is for our people. The LGBTQIA+ community has a strong history of being unified and a history marked by our internal quarrels. But both of these truths make us stronger today. We need to catalyze our efforts, get involved, run for office, and change the face of modern politics in New Mexico & America. 

As it stands, roughly three elected officials in the new state legislature are members of the LGBTQIA+ community. Why does this matter? Because this reality proves why it is important to get engaged and possibly even run for office. As members of the LGBTQIA+ community, the only way we can effectively protect our rights, change our current social/political trajectory, and see the tomorrow we deserve is by being the voice we’ve always needed. I was 22 when I decided to run for the New Mexico House of Representatives in House District 22, not because I had preplanned and forethought that this was my way into politics, but because it was what was needed. To make a long story relatively short, the best-elected officials are those who don’t seek the spotlight and, quite frankly, do not even want to run for public office. The rationale in this thinking is that these people, our people, rightfully reflect our values, needs, and community.

So, if you want to make the change, secure our future, and ensure that our LGBTQIA+, BIPOC, and other marginalized communities are secure, run for office. If you feel that you cannot pull yourself into the mindset to run for office, consider working a campaign, join a political organization (LGBTQIA+ Caucus of the Democratic Party), or at least get out and VOTE. The right to vote has not been a right for all in our history as a country. So, if you cannot volunteer or be engaged that way, please get out and vote. We have a voice in electing the people we want to make the changes you and I need. So protect our tomorrow, next week, and future by standing up, pushing back, and voting. - Augustine Montoya, Chairperson, LGBTQIA+ Caucus of the Democratic Party of New Mexico

The Human Rights Alliance is collaborating with the New Mexico History Museum to screen the ground-breaking 1977 documentary Word is Out: Stories of Some of Our Lives. More than 40 years ago, the film startled audiences when it appeared in movie theaters and on television. The first feature-length documentary about queer identity made by gay filmmakers, the film was created by the Mariposa Film Group, a collective comprised of three lesbians (Veronica Selver, Lucy Massie Phenix, Nancy Adair) and three gay men (Rob Epstein, Peter Adair, Andrew Brown). Featuring candid interviews with 26 gay men and women across a wide range of demographics, it became an immediate flash point in the emerging gay-rights movement of the 1970s and forever altered the cultural conversations about LGBTQ+ issues.

The interviews conducted for the film were compiled into a book with the same title and released in October 1978. In 2022, the film was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant."
The interviewees describe their experiences of coming out, falling in and out of love, and struggling against prejudice, stereotypes, and discriminatory laws. In addition, The Human Rights Alliance, working with Hannah Abelbeck, curator of photo archives at the New Mexico History Museum, uncovered videotapes of four interviews conducted in Albuquerque that never made it into the original film. These interviews have been notated and edited these interviews and produced an additional, never-before-seen 20-minute segment unique to New Mexico.

Filmmaker Peter Adair said, "In the 1970's when the modern gay movement was just beginning, our biggest problem was invisibility. Who homosexuals were was largely determined by straight people. It was bad enough that the public image of gay men and lesbians was defined largely by stereotypes—after all, I want other people to have an accurate picture of who I am. But these stereotypes created by outsiders largely defined our perceptions of who we thought we were. What a state of affairs. One's reference for what was gay was a few nasty images and, if you were lucky, your immediate circle of Queer friends. Word Is Out, finished in 1977, was on its surface a very simple idea answering the simple question - Who are we? For the film, I and the five other principal people I worked with spent a year doing research interviews on videotape of 250 lesbians and gay men all across the country. In the end, 26 were chosen to tell their stories in the film."

In the New York Times, David Dunlop wrote in 1996, "Understated though it was, Word Is Out had a remarkable impact, coming at a time when images of homosexuals as everyday people, as opposed to psychopaths or eccentrics, were rare."

​​Word is Out 
Friday, June 21, 2024
New Mexico History Museum 
113 Lincoln Ave
Santa Fe, NM 87501
5:00 pm - 8:00 pm
Tickets are free at bit.ly/pridemovie2024
Sponsored by: La Montanita Co-op