I’m A Gay Former Secret Service Agent Trying To Find My Way In Dark Post-Election Times
Reconciling who I thought we were with who we really are and the impact on LGBTQ communities.
Rachata Teyparsit | Shutterstock These past weeks did not go as planned for me and many Americans. I rode into Election Day on the wave of hope, optimism, sound policy proposals, and joy that the Harris Campaign had miraculously assembled in three months.
I expected my fellow Americans to repudiate Trump and the MAGA movement once and for all — given everything we know about him, what they stand for and seek to accomplish, and the irrefutable harm it’ll cause to us, especially those of us in a minority class.
I was dead wrong — I had fallen into the trap of bestowing my personal beliefs and values upon others.
We look out for our neighbors, we value diversity and the strength that accompanies it, and we are in it for the greater good and improvement of society. My eternal optimism got me yet again, as none of these things are part of Trump’s GOP. And they go against my core values. Call me naïve; it’s fine.
I’m still reconciling what happened, how it happened, how we got here, where and what the disconnects are, and how to move forward using what little light we have in this dawn of a new day in our nation.
It’ll take some time, and we should take all the time we need to grieve and process everything. Focus on ourselves, our families, and what matters most to us. Do things that bring you joy, cry on a friend’s shoulder, disconnect from the news and negativity, and check in with people now fearful for their future.
We need and appreciate these check-ins. If you’re a straight ally, I strongly encourage you to touch base with your LGBTQ friends and family members. We genuinely appreciate and love to know you care about us, you have us in mind, and you have our back. We are carrying a lot of fear around with us.
I was in DC on Election Day for work, which was fitting given I was a Secret Service agent for nearly a decade.
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The evening after the election, I met with Tony at Number 9 for a drink. He was the first close friend I saw after the results were known. I broke down and started crying when I saw him, for all to see along P Street.
I cried for our community and the setback we just suffered, for the women in our country, for the Black children I’d seen that morning who were just told they weren’t good enough by a majority of Americans, for Tony’s daughter and my son.
I cried because I felt that we had failed them, as this is their future and it will be their country, not ours. The fear we carry with us is real and palpable. I am uncertain if I will take my family to western Pennsylvania to visit family this Thanksgiving. It is heavily Trump country, and that does not bring me comfort as a gay man in a biracial marriage, with a biracial son.
My husband is usually the only Asian American within miles and miles. It is indisputable that we are gay, now that we have a baby with us at all times. I could hide the gay and cast enough uncertainty to thwart a potential hate crime (and being white certainly helps), but that’s no longer the case. Trump voters are more emboldened than ever before, and given the proximity to the election, we could easily be the first targets they see if they want to lash out.
I cannot put my family in danger, and that is how it feels to me as I’ve made a career of thwarting and de-escalating danger.
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What also caught me off guard this week was the quick dismissal of my feelings and fears by people I thought would have my back through thick and thin. One of my brothers decided to chime in on Wednesday and advise me that I was overreacting.
I assured him that I was not overreacting. He asked for specific details of which of my rights were at stake, which also took me aback. I took the high ground and went into detail about gay marriage, federal benefits, LGBTQ family building, LGBTQ parentage, etc.
I owed this to nobody, but as my sibling, I wanted to shed light on a topic I wrongly assumed he was aware of. He assured me that our rights were all equal and attempted to talk policy, but I remained steadfast in discussing the implications of a Trump vote to my (gay) family, naively thinking he’d be apathetic or at least entertain me with an “I’m sorry you feel that way.” A simple “I hear you” would’ve sufficed.
It became apparent he wasn’t listening and was only seeking to affirm his own beliefs. I informed him that he either didn’t believe or trust me or just didn’t care enough and that was fine. I ended the conversation as he attempted to circle back that I hadn’t answered his questions, as if this was a job interview, which it felt that way since he lacked any sense of empathy for his brother and his family.
Telling somebody that their feelings are invalid, particularly when you are unaffected, is the most privileged thing you can do. Do not do this.
This was now the second brother of mine that I had in a sense, lost to their views, opinions, or religion. I don’t know how to move forward with these relationships. If you don’t care about me and my family, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act.
I know that one’s nuclear family will always come before the rest of your outlying family, but the inability to listen, the difference in core values, and the woeful disregard for other people’s struggles are a lot to overcome.
How can we bridge these growing divides if we cannot listen to each other? (Kudos to Russia and the billionaires who control a lot of the information between our borders, you’re doing a stellar job at dividing us.)
This isn’t the America that my grandfather fought for in WWII, being shot down over Germany and held as a POW, for the greater good of his fellow citizens, human rights, and democracy. Nationalism is on the rise across the globe, most recently evidenced in Italy when they essentially outlawed LGBTQ family building and now it’s about to hit our shores.
Within all of this, there is hope and it shows itself in the most unexpected places, sometimes when you need it most.
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Also on Wednesday morning, I received a message from a relative who lives in western Pennsylvania. I don’t know her well, but we have met a few times. She was trying to cope with how she felt, knowing that her family all voted for Trump. In a glaring example of strength, she came out to her family that same day. She said she had nothing else to lose and I was the only relative she knew to reach out to.
She thanked me for being inspirational, which made me emotional upon reading it. I was truly touched that not only had she contacted me, but that my presence had not only had an impact on a younger person, but a relative who felt isolated. We shared our fears and ways to cope, as well as our thoughts on attending Thanksgiving this year.
I commended her for her strength and bravery, and I thanked her for inspiring me when I needed it most. It brought perspective to the fight that lies before us and the importance of it.
I don’t yet know the path forward, but we will find our footing and continue fighting for our rights and the rights of those who cannot speak for themselves. Our virtues shine most in the darkest of times, in how we react and respond in times of need. I will get to know our neighbors better, deepen the relationships with those who care about me, be an advocate in hopes of affecting change, and show Kai, our son, that this is what resiliency looks like.
Cory Allen is an author, husband, father, career public servant, LGBTQ, and IVF/surrogacy advocate. Cory’s influence has been featured in The Rumpus, Out, The G&LR, Authority Mag, Queerty, CNN, & Nightline, among many others.