By Ian L. Haddock
Six days into Hurricane Harvey, things hit me. I was living in a motel room provided by FEMA with only a few sets of clothes, the photos I could grab, and my laptop. The space was decent and clean, but my heart was cluttered with the fear of the unknown.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m resilient. Like thousands of other queer-identified people, I have been homeless before, couchsurfed many times, and learned to do whatever it takes to survive. It is no secret that over 40 percent of homeless youth identify as LGBTQ. But recovery from the costliest storm in history would test even my limits—especially when I was already spread thin.
A servant by heart, I’m not used to needing assistance. Prior to the storm, I threw my passions into my work—work that I loved and provided me with ample opportunity, but was not financially sustainable. It seemed that the exact moment I figured that out, however, was the moment everything washed away—literally. And there I sat, in a motel room, evacuated from my home, and back at square one.
Over three months and an enormous struggle later, things are just getting back to “normal” for me. I recently started a new job and have a long-term stable living situation. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case for most of Houston.
For the nearly 10,000 people that sought refuge in the George R. Brown Convention Center and the 60,000 people still displaced after the storm, life isn’t back to normal. Federal programs, fundraising efforts, and local organizations provided the city with substantial aid. Unfortunately, this help never reached many of our queer brothers and sisters. For some queer folks, life has gotten even worse since the storm, and many don’t have the strength to readily bounce back from such a disaster.
Queer-inclusive spaces were also devastated by the storm. Resurrection Metropolitan Community Church, an open and affirming faith space in the Houston Heights area, was hit especially hard by Harvey’s fury and is just now in the restoration phase of recovery. Places like Legacy Community Health’s mSociety had less water damage, but were still negatively impacted. This destruction meant no safe spaces for displaced LGBTQ folks.
The idea of safety and mental health is especially important as we move into the holiday season. The holidays can be a stressful time for queer folks—even without the added trauma of a natural disaster. As Carolyn Gregoire recently wrote for Huffington Post, “Between stressful end-of-year deadlines, family dysfunction and loss, poor eating and drinking habits, and increasingly cold and dark winter days, it’s easy for the holiday season to feel not-so-merry and bright.” This stress has been proven to lead to depression, and marginalized communities—especially those now burdened by Harvey—are at an even greater risk. Add being of low socioeconomic status into the mix, and recovery can seem hopeless and unattainable.
After I finally had enough money to sustain myself and had a little extra to give, I decided to pick up my friend “D” from the shelter where he was staying. I was immediately able to see the pure desperation, grief, and sadness in his eyes. He wouldn’t look me as we drove to grab a bite to eat. D identifies as a nonbinary individual and, on a normal day, takes pride in his knack for style. In his current state, however, he sat next to me in the passenger seat dressed in a scarf, a T-shirt, sweatpants, and house shoes. He confessed he almost didn’t reach out to let me know he was in need, and that he was embarrassed for me to see him this way. When we were about to part ways, he said, “I don’t even want a lot of clothes, shoes, or anything like that. The shelter gives me a roof over my head and enough food to survive. I just wish I had someone during the holidays—family, friends, or a lover. That’s the worst part to me.”
My heart broke in that moment. D has me, though, and I will do my best to make sure he lands on his feet. But there are many others just like him, searching for a sense of normalcy. While the holidays are a time to cherish your loved ones and make lifelong memories, remember that many are still recovering from Harvey and may not have those same opportunities. In the spirit of giving and community, open your hearts and homes to your fellow LGBTQ siblings this holiday season.
The community-based organization BakerRipley has done extensive work to continue to assist people with disaster relief efforts—including LGBTQIA+ folk. To donate, visit bakerripley.org/get-involved/donate.
