{"id":25,"date":"2022-04-26T18:11:39","date_gmt":"2022-04-26T22:11:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/shoeleathermagazine.com\/2022\/?p=25"},"modified":"2024-01-17T18:36:39","modified_gmt":"2024-01-17T23:36:39","slug":"theyre-here-theyre-queer-theyre-republican","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/shoeleathermagazine.com\/2022\/theyre-here-theyre-queer-theyre-republican\/","title":{"rendered":"They\u2019re Here, They\u2019re Queer, They\u2019re\u2026 Republican?"},"content":{"rendered":"

Part I – Dean of the Gay Legislature<\/strong><\/p>\n

A<\/b> year before election day in 2015, Todd Novak\u2019s phone rang. It was Mark Pocan, a Congressman from Wisconsin’s 2nd district. Pocan asked Novak if he\u2019d consider running for an open seat in the 51st assembly district, which is located in southwest Wisconsin, just west of Madison. Despite being Mayor of a small town called Dodgeville, Novak told Pocan he wasn\u2019t interested. Privacy was important to him, and state politics is no place for a man who wants to keep his personal life personal.<\/span><\/p>\n

A few days later, Novak got a knock on his office door. This time from Speaker of the Wisconsin House, Robyn Vos. After a long meeting of convincing, Novak told him no. Novak then received a call from Governor Scott Walker. Again, Novak said no.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAfter about three months, I thought about it. And I figured a door only opens once and sometimes you got to walk through it and take a chance,\u201d Novak says. So he called up Vos and finally said yes. But first, the Wisconsin Republican party needed to run a standard background check. Passing with flying colors, Novak met with Vos to celebrate. \u201cIf you’re going to do this, you really need to discuss it with your wife and kids, because this is hard on the family,\u201d Vos said. Novak had been married for five years, and was also concerned about what politics might do to his family. Mostly because his spouse was a man. \u201cWell\u2026 I’m gay,\u201d Novak told him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, my gosh. I am so sorry. I didn’t know that,\u201d Vos said. Despite a foray of background checks, the fact of Novak\u2019s same sex marriage didn\u2019t reach Vos\u2019 desk. For Novak, the fact that his sexual orientiation didn\u2019t land on Vos\u2019 desk says a lot about the modern Republican party. \u201cNobody ever brought it up because nobody cared,\u201d Novak says.<\/span><\/p>\n

And voters didn\u2019t seem to care either. Running as a Republican in an almost solidly blue district, Novak outpaced his counterparts and went on to win by 64 votes.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Thirty years ago Novak couldn\u2019t have imagined working in politics. He comes from a generation of people who are \u201canti government.\u201d Novak\u2019s family immigrated to Wisconsin in the 1860s from Bohemia, settled in Iowa County, and founded a successful farm. The Novaks credit their success to their independence and balk at the idea that government involvement had anything to do with it. Iowa County is among the smallest counties in Wisconsin. It\u2019s home to over 16,000 people, where 97 percent of the population is white with the second largest group being Latinos at 3 percent. Novak grew up in the east of Iowa County, in a small farming town of barely 500 people called Cobb. It\u2019s a quaint place, with a century old post office and an annual corn roast that celebrates the summer\u2019s end.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Graduating from high school in 1963, Novak went to vocational school to study finance. For a while, he worked as an accountant, but sitting at a desk all day made him go stir crazy. \u201cI think that comes from being a farm kid,\u201d Novak says. He needed to be out and moving. A friend of Novak\u2019s asked if he was interested in working in the printing\u00a0 department of a local newspaper, The Dodgeville Chronicle. In the warehouse, Novak moved paper through machinery, loaded trucks, and got\u00a0 his hands dirty with ink.\u00a0 One day the editor, short on staff, and knowing that Novak was a history buff and avid reader of presidential biographies, asked him to cover a county board meeting. Novak obliged him, headed to the meeting, took pages of detailed notes, and wrote the article. The editor was impressed with his writing and promoted him to staff reporter, covering everything from elections to school board meetings. Twenty years later, Novak became the editor of the paper.<\/span><\/p>\n

By 2012, people in Dodgeville were concerned about their town\u2019s future: the Mayor decided not to run again, and one of the only candidates for the position was a widely disliked city councilman. Members of the Dodgeville business community practically begged Novak to throw his hat in the race.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you want me to run for Mayor?\u201d Novak asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou’ve been in every council meeting for 20 years. If anybody knows what’s going on and can help fix things\u2026 you can,\u201d a woman said.<\/span><\/p>\n

Novak said yes and won his election by 78 percent of the vote. At his inauguration in 2012, he\u00a0 became the first openly gay Mayor in Wisconsin\u2019s history. But in a state where conversion therapy is still legal, he was stepping into a ring more complicated than he bargained for.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

B<\/b>orn in 1965, Novak knew he was gay from an early age. But during the 60s in rural Wisconsin, sexuality wasn’t talked about. So Novak did what most closeted gay men do: he dated women, got engaged, and mantained a heterosexual perosna. \u201cFor a while I thought, well, this is just something I’ll put in the recesses of my mind,\u201d he says.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Novak was almost thirty when the AIDS crisis hit. It was a lonely time for Novak, being an isolated gay man in the middle of nowhere, far from the coasts where people like him were dying. He eventually fell in love with a man and decided it was time to tell his family about his homosexuality. To his biggest surprise, nobody seemed to care. He describes the experience as a \u201cbig yawn.\u201d Today, he is happily married to his husband, Chris, an engineer, and has two adopted sons. \u201cSometimes I wish I wouldn’t have waited so long,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

Novak always considered himself a moderate Republican, and claims coming out of the closet has not influenced his politics. Like many Republicans of his generation, he was \u201cenamored\u201d of\u00a0 Ronald Reagan when he ran for president in 1980. But Novak is the first to admit that the GOP\u2019s history on LGBTQ rights is battered. \u201cI think there’s some scars with the older, my, generation of LGBT people that will not forgive the Republicans for that,\u201d Novak says. \u201cWe’ll get them there.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The roots of homophobia are historically deep in the Republican party. It took Reagan four years to address the AIDS crisis, only to refer to the epidemic as a \u201cgay disease.\u201d\u00a0 When President George H. W. Bush took office, it was one year before he called for \u201ccompassion,\u201d but he then did nothing concrete to respond to the crisis.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

By contrast, the Democratic Party has championed gay rights and gay politicians. In 1972, the Democrats elected Gerry Studds, the first openly gay man to Congress. Despite signing the Defense of Marriage Act, President Bill Clinton, a Democrat, was the first US president to address AIDS by funding health programs. And the Democratic Party was the first to support civil unions and marriage equality. It was Democrats who were first to support gay icons like Harvey Milk and Barney Frank. So it is Democrats that the LGBTQ community overwhelmingly supports in every federal and state election. As LGBTQ rights have gained momentum, Novak\u2019s position as a gay Republican has become more complicated.<\/span><\/p>\n

Last year, a bill came before the Wisconsin house banning transgender children from participating on sports teams in public schools. It was a moment of internal crisis for Novak. Personally, he didn\u2019t agree with it but he felt he had to represent the opinions of his district: thirteen Superintendents demanded he vote for the ban. And Novak did just that.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI took it on the chin on that,\u201d Novak tells me. \u201cThat’s the first anti-LGBT bill I’ve gone through and voted on, but the Governor vetoed that. It\u2019s important they understand I’m not an identity person. I don’t vote on things because I’m gay. I vote on legislation because of the issue.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Perhaps the closest Novak comes each year to bringing his personal life to bear on his politics is his opposition to the practice of conversion therapy. Each year since 2015, Novak has introduced a bill to the Wisconsin house floor that would effectively ban the therapy\u2019s usage statewide.\u00a0 While thirteen counties ban the use of conversion therapy on minors, the remaining 59 have virtually no laws limiting its usage. But for the seven years he\u2019s been in office, Novak hasn\u2019t been able to get his bill to move.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Novak argues that Republican efforts to securing civil rights for gay people in Wisconsin are overlooked by the media. He is frustrated by Democrats and progressives who accuse him of harming the LGBTQ community by being Republican. He notes that is was under a Republican governor in 1982 that Wisconsin became the first state in the US to outlaw discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. Novak believes he deserves more credit than he gets. \u201cI’ve killed and done more stuff for the LGBT community being in the legislature more than anybody. And, so, it kind of infuriates me,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

Since 2015, when same-sex marriage was legalized, the national conversation regarding LGBTQ rights has become more inclusive, taking into account the rights of transgender and gender non-conforming individuals. Novak has struggled to keep up. \u201cIt’s very hard for me at my age to accept. I don’t know who added the Q to the LGBT, but that \u2018queer\u2019 drives me nuts because that was very inflammatory when I was growing up. That’s to me equal as the faggot. I find that repulsive cause in my day, queer was used to be really nasty,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is a familiar dilemma: the old guy who is confounded by the new ideas and nomenclature used by younger generations of \u201chis people.\u201d Fortunately, Novak receives advice from a loose coalition of young and old gay Republicans across the country. He is the de facto leader of the group, and jokingly calls himself the \u201cDean of the gay legislature.\u201d \u201cWe\u2019re a rare breed,\u201d Novak says. While his band of young and old gays may discuss new ideas about LGBTQ rights, the prospect of Novak putting those ideas into practice isn\u2019t promising. Much like his bill to ban conversion therapy, Novak isn\u2019t moving anytime soon.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Part II – Party First\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

G<\/b>offstown, New Hampshire is an hour north of Boston. Hugging the Piscataqua River, surrounded by dense forest and American suburbia sits a small town with a population of 18,000. Flags, churches, and farms lead the way to the heart of town. Once there, everything is white: the buildings, the churches, the homes \u2014 and the people.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Main street is roaring with cars, mostly bulky American-made pickup trucks. In parking lots, teenagers do wheelies on bicycles, and on sidewalks middle-aged moms jog in groups of three. Driving through, I lose count of the number of flapping red lawn signs. On a patch of grass, over a dozen people, young and old, hold signs reading \u201cElect Shea for School Board.\u201d They howl at my car.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The town was founded before the revolution in 1761, named after Jon Goffe, a colonial soldier who fought in the French and Indian War. It was a bustling lumber and fishing community. Remnants of the Civil War sit West of bars and banks: a stone statue of a Union soldier towering 15 feet high. These are people proud of their town, proud of their country.<\/span><\/p>\n

Goffstown is solidly Republican, blue-collared, and Catholic. Nothing here is out of the ordinary. Except maybe for 27-year-old Joe Alexander \u2014 a gay Republican serving Goffstown in the state\u2019s legislature.<\/span><\/p>\n

I meet Joe for coffee at a local cafe on a sunny March afternoon. As I arrive, he sits on the cafe\u2019s porch, head covered by a black baseball cap. Standing to greet me, he lifts off his cap, exposing a receding hairline that compliments his thick black beard.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The cafe is the town hot spot. We grab the last available spot, a table right in the middle. He\u2019s anxious, new to the interview game: eyes darting, scanning the room, looking at each person as they walk through the door. The second a corner table becomes available Joe asks me if I want to move. I follow his lead.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When Joe decided to run for office in 2018, his family wasn\u2019t surprised. In elementary school, Joe\u2019s mom would bring him to the polls to see democracy in progress. Ever since Reagen, his parents have voted down the ballot for Republicans. And that ideology has influenced Joe\u2019s entire political life. \u201cI would say that kind of sparked my choice of politics, at that moment, when she kind of showed me this is what you have, this is what you do\u2026 and you have to do it,\u201d Joe says.<\/span><\/p>\n

In 2017, he graduated from Saint Anslem College with a Bachelors in Public Policy. Election nights have now turned into Joe’s Super Bowl. He even named his cat Nixon.<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s family is a working class Italian family: his mother works in public administration in Concord, and his father is an engineer. With two brothers and two sisters, Joe said the house was crowded growing up. Today, with his oldest brother deployed in Hawaii, and his sisters scattered across the state, Joe misses the bustling household of his youth.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Family means everything to Joe, and he is especially close to his mother. When he started questioning his sexuality as a teenager, he feared coming out would drive a hole through his familial relationships. \u201cI felt disappointed because I was the first born of my father, the first son of my father. I was like, shit. Like, I really, I really messed this up,\u201d Joe said. To Joe\u2019s surprise, they didn\u2019t. But when his sister came out as transgender late last year, Joe\u2019s family faced a more difficult test. His father didn\u2019t support his new daughter. But like Joe, his father eventually came around.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe tells me that coming out didn\u2019t make him any more or less conservatitve. He claims his sexuality has\u00a0 no impact on\u00a0 his politics, and describes himself as a social conservative. He is pro-life, pro-gun, and dislikes Liberals and big government. He voted for Trump twice, and notes that he was the first President to enter office supporting same-sex marriage. Joe even calls Melania Trump a \u201cgay icon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Most of all, Joe likes Trump because he believes he is tough. \u201cHe taught Republicans how to fight,\u201d he says. And Joe is really good at fighting. He routinely gets into arguments with his \u201cmassive Lib\u201d gay uncle. His uncle is \u201cway far left\u201d and can\u2019t comprehend how Joe could be both gay and Republican. But any suggestion that being Republican makes Joe less gay is an insult. \u201cPut a couple drinks in me and I\u2019m making more,\u201d Joe says.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When Joe ran for office in Goffstown, his sexual orientation wasn\u2019t part of the campaign. If someone asked, he had no problem telling them. But he believes that flaunting your sexuality on the campaign trail is what Democrats do \u2014 not Republicans. Any mention of identity politics makes Joe furious.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Earlier this year, a bill came before the New Hampshire House that sought to legalize conversion therapy. Joe took the House podium and addressed the speaker directly. He cited a study that found conversion therapy is correlated with a spike in teen suicide rates. The bill failed: 197-147. But when it comes to banning conversion therapy elsewhere in the country, Joe believes he has no business pushing for change despite the therapy being legal in more states than it is illegal.<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe says that state\u2019s rights is the foundation of his conservatism. He is willing to express his opinion on anything having to do with New Hampshire, but is cautious beyond that. So when Florida passed the Parental Rights in Education bill, also known as the Don’t Say Gay bill, he wouldn\u2019t take a stand. After all, who is he to tell the people of Florida how to govern?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

While Joe opposes identity politics when it comes to sexual orientation, he feels a deep affinity with the identity of his fellow Republicans. For Joe, it\u2019s party first. \u201cI\u2019ll defend my party before I defend my community,\u201d he tells me, referring to the gay community. He gives me an example. If an anti-gay Republican ran for office in New Hampshire,\u00a0 Joe wouldn\u2019t vote for him in the primary. But come the general election, if that anti-gay politician became the Republican nominee, Joe would support him without hesitation.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

For Joe, the stakes aren\u2019t huge. He doesn\u2019t see any looming threat to gay Americans and argues that more Republicans support same-sex marriage than ever before. When Obergefell v. Hodges, the Supreme Court case which legalized gay marriage, was decided in 2015, Joe was in his junior year of college and already out of the closet. And for Joe, that was the moment gay Americans reached full equality with hetereosexual Americans.<\/span><\/p>\n

But what about other members in Joe\u2019s LGBTQ community \u2014 like his transgender sister? Joe doesn\u2019t deny that he\u2019s part of a community, but exactly what that community looks like is unclear to him. \u201cThey’re creating different boxes for everybody. And it’s like, just say the community. So do I support the letter T? I don’t know, because I don’t know who that is,\u201d Joe says.<\/span><\/p>\n

When I begin listing issues facing the LGBTQ communtiy \u2014 conversion therapy, access to healthcare, employment discrimination, housing discrimnation, and so on \u2014 Joe starts to laugh. He tells me that the only reason these are issues is because Democrats have made them issues.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A<\/b>s of 2021, only 26 openly LGBTQ Republicans held office opposed to 721 openly LGBTQ Democrats in office. Joe believes there are far more LGBTQ Republicans in office than we know, even at the federal level, but they remain closeted. He blames the Republican party\u2019s reluctant support of LGBTQ rights throughout history as part of the reason Democrats have a stronghold over LGBTQ voters and politicians. But Joe believes the main reason is more cut and dry: Democrats see government as an answer to the problems \u2014 such as aiding gay rights \u2014 where Republicans do not. But Joe believes Republicans are beginning to see the importance of gays in their party. On the state board for the Log Cabin Republicans, a national organzation consisting of gay Republicans, Joe says there\u2019s a loose plan in development to recapture the suburban woman vote for Republicans: send in the gays. \u201cWhat do suburban women like? They like the gays, right? The gays are fun, you know,\u201d Joe tells me straightly.<\/span><\/p>\n

The potential strategy, which Joe says is real, would send in gay Republicans to surbuban areas during election years, state and federal, to convince women to vote Republican. Joe wouldn\u2019t tell me much after that but noted that the LRC board feels the plan is feasible. This is all to say that the LRC, and gay Republicans in New Hampshire, are more interested in progressing Republican legislation than they do LGBTQ rights.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Part III – Running Gay\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>L<\/b>adies and gentlemen, please welcome the 2021 Spirit Award honoree… Melania Trump!\u201d an announcer says as the former president and first-lady make their way down a narrow aisle. It is\u00a0 the annual Spirit of Lincoln Gala \u2014 an event hosted by the Log Cabin Republicans (LRC), a conservative\u00a0 gay-rights group \u2014 to celebrate the progress made on gay conservative issues. This year, at Mar-a-Lago, the LRC honored Melania for her work with \u201cBe Best,\u201d an anti-bullying campaign.<\/span><\/p>\n

Melania or not, the event feels like a Trump rally. \u201cTRUUUUUUUUUMP!!!\u201d the crowd screams as the pair passess through Mar-a-Lago\u2019s glass front door, greeting rowdy patrons being restrained by the Secret Service.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Among the crowd is\u00a0 Joshua Higginbotham, wearing a black suit, white dotted blue tie, and a gold pin with George Washington\u2019s profile on it. Six-foot and slightly overweight, Higginbotham turned 24 in June. His southern accent, dirty blonde hair, and baby face help maintain Higginbotham’s charming disposition. Back in West Virginia, Higginbotham is the youngest Republican ever elected to the state legislature. And on that November evening at Mar-a-Lago, he was a staunch Trump ally.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPolitics, just like sexual orientation, is a spectrum,\u201d Higginbotham says. \u201cAnd Donald Trump, whether you love him or hate him, was the only U.S. president in history to enter the oval office in support of gay marriage.\u201d Higginbotham considers meetings with Trump staff at the White House to be some of the most important days of his life. But perhaps the day that tops all occured in his bedroom back in June when Higginbotham sat in front of his phone\u2019s camera, hit record, and told West Virginians he was gay.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the video, Higgibotham stares at the camera, brows darting, \u201cI\u2019m Joshua Higginbotham and I\u2019m gay,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019m still a conservative Republican. Rare, I know. But you can still be gay and Republican.\u201d The video, posted on Twitter, amassed tens of thousands of views and sent shockwaves across the country. Practically every major news outlet covered the story as Higginbotham made history, becoming the first ever openly gay lawmaker in West Virginia. The social media response to Higginbotham\u2019s video was a mixed bag.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI have no issues with you being gay. I do have issues with you being Republican,\u201d a comment read.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGod says homosexuality is wrong, period,\u201d wrote another.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care where you put your dick. What do you believe happened on January 6th,\u201d another comment asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

West Virginia is one of the most conservative states in the union. It has virtually no laws against conversion therapy and still allows landlords and employers to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation.<\/span><\/p>\n

Four years ago, from his college dorm room at the University of Charleston, Higginbotham ran a campaign that boasted pro-life, pro-gun, pro-law enforcement, and pro-Trump views. West Virginians loved Higginbotham and elected him to office twice. But he is now taking aim at a higher position: state senate. This is the first race Higginbotham will be running as an openly gay man.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

H<\/b>igginbotham grew up in the Kanawha Valley, just outside Charleston, in the heart of Appalachia. 180,000 people live in the valley named after a native tribe, and 90% of whom are white. Up until the early 2000s, West Virginia was considered a swing state, with a long Democratic and union history. Since then, it has veered to the right. And being the most populous county in the state, Kanawha is a bellwether.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Higginbotham hails from a line of hardworking blue-collar West Virginians. His father is a farmer and welder, and his mother a Sunday school teacher. Growing up, life in Appalachia was relatively simple for Higginbotham: he went to church on Sundays, and occasionally hunted deer with his brother in the evenings.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

But being gay complicated his upbringing. He cites his devout Presbyterianism for providing some form of stability and clarity through the fog of his sexual awakening. In fact, when Higginbotham was eighteen, he wrote a book, <\/span>Ecclesiastes<\/span><\/i>, which modernized age-old sentiments found in The Old Testament. In his book, Higginbotham tells the story of two senators who must work together to defeat an \u201cunforeseen enemy\u201d that encroaches Washington, D.C..\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

But Higginbotham\u2019s challenge isn\u2019t defeating some unforeseen enemy. It is convincing voters that being gay is less important than the fact that he is a pious conservative that wants to fuel money back into public schools, repair the state\u2019s dying infrastructure, and curb the rising tax rate.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The local reaction to Higginbotham\u2019s coming-out seems mostly positive. \u201cMost of the old ladies with the church like me more now,\u201d he says. Although his family was hesitant at first, they cite their church in helping them become accepting of Higginbotham\u2019s sexuality.<\/span><\/p>\n

Higginbotham\u2019s sexual orientation didn\u2019t come as a surprise to most people. He confides that he sometimes overheard fellow legislators speculating about his sexuality. But when he did come out, he received supportive letters, phone calls, emails and text messages from Republican and Democratic members of the legislature. But not everyone.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere have been people in both parties that have told me that I cannot be in politics because I’m gay,\u201d Higginbotham says. \u201cAnd I have to remind them that it wasn’t that long ago that people didn’t feel comfortable with an immigrant running for office or, you know, any other minority.\u201d But as election day gets closer, Higginbotham knows he has a lot of convincing to do.<\/span><\/p>\n

Brad Todd \u2014\u00a0 a founding partner of On Message, which has helped get high profile Republicans like Rick Scott and Josh Hawley elected to office \u2014 doesn\u2019t believe Higginbotham\u2019s gayness will have an impacr on his electability. Todd cites the campaigns of past openly gay Republicans like Jim Colby and Mark Foley as examples. However, Colby and Foley told the public they were gay <\/span>after<\/span><\/i> they were elected to office. Todd believes Republicans aren\u2019t swayed by identity politics as much as Democrats are. \u201cThe way you get a Democrat to vote is you have to nag them,\u201d Todd says. \u201cIt’s just an anathema to Republicans to be talked to as if our group membership trumps our own ability to make our own decisions.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The word around Kanawha Valley seems to echo Todd\u2019s sentiments. Anthony Conn, a reporter from Kanawha on WCHS, covered Higginbotham\u2019s coming out story. But when Higginbotham\u2019s story broke at WCHS, Conn and his fellow reporters didn\u2019t feel the news was that big of a deal. In fact, Conn feels the national coverage of the news was more dramatic than it was in Kanawha and across West Virginia.\u201cIt was just another story for us,\u201d Conn said. The people of\u00a0 Kanawha seem not to care if he is gay, but Higginbotham\u2019s inner circle is worried about his sexuality impacting the campaign.<\/span><\/p>\n

T<\/b>he decision to come out before announcing his race for state senate was one Higginbotham thought about a lot. He wanted voters to know he didn\u2019t have anything to hide. If he could be transparent about who he slept with, perhaps voters would respect and trust him. \u201cPeople told me \u2018Josh, this is gonna have a negative impact on the campaign, you cannot do that.\u2019 And I said, now that everyone in my immediate family knows, I want to make sure that the voters know.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Higginbotham doesn\u2019t shy away when it comes to talking about LGBTQ+ issues, whether in his state or across the country.\u00a0 Gay conservatives tend to agree that gay marriage was the most important goal for the gay community, and that transgender issues aren\u2019t of great concern. Higginbotham splits from his party when it comes to issues of transgender and gender non-conforming folk. \u201cI think we’re there on the LGB side,\u201d Higginbotham said. \u201cBut we certainly need a bit more time on the T side.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

In the fall of 2021, a movement in Texas led by Republican State Representative Matt Krause, attempted to ban 850 books from public schools across the state. Some of the books on Representative Krause\u2019s list are novels which feature LGBTQ themes. When I asked for his thoughts about the attempt by Representative Krause, Higginbotham grew unexpectedly shy. He told me he \u201cdidn\u2019t know enough\u201d about the issue to comment. Higginbotham\u2019s dodge shows how difficult it is to be gay and Republican. On one hand, Higginbotham wants to represent his community while, on the other, he can\u2019t upset his GOP base.<\/span><\/p>\n

Lori Weigel, the Principal of New Bridge Strategy \u2014 a research firm based in Colorado that deals with polling primarily on Republican issues \u2014 understands the line Higginbotham is attempting to walk on. \u201cAmericans have become more comfortable with gay marriage and Republicans have not been immune to that,\u201d Weigel said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Weigel contends that\u00a0 Higginbotham\u2019s future\u00a0 will depend on who he runs against, and what they believe. Like Todd, Weigel believes\u00a0 Republicans are\u00a0 complex voters who don\u2019t agree on a single ideology. Weigel says Higginbotham\u2019s dedication to things like infrastructure and low taxes will help him. However, she still contends that it\u2019s \u201cunquestionable\u201d his sexuality will have an impact.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

One of Higginbotham\u2019s potential Republican opponents is Allen Whitt, a far-right Republican who is a member of the Family Policy Council. \u201cIt’s a very homophobic hate group,\u201d Higginbotham said. According to Higginbotham, in 2020 Whitt made a post on Facebook alleging that gay people \u201cdon\u2019t exist\u201d but later took it down due to scrutiny. Recently on Whitt\u2019s Twitter feed, he reposted a video of a pro-LGBTQ protest with the caption \u201cRainbow Slaves.\u201d Whitt did not respond to a request for comment.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It\u2019s unclear if Whitt will run. But if he does, Higginbotham is worried how Whitt\u2019s presence will impact his electibulity as a gay conservative.\u201cWill I lose votes for it? Probably, probably. But again\u2026 I think the majority of people just want their roads fixed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Part IV \u2014 Notes<\/strong><\/p>\n

W<\/b>hen I arrived in Goffstown to interview Joe Alexander, I had a few presumptions. Chief among them: how could someone be gay and Republican?\u00a0 I grew up in the Northeast, sheltered by fairly progressive parents and liberal schools. Sure, I had Republican friends but they never pulled the lever for Trump. Joe was one of the first on my list of gay Republicans to speak with and I\u2019d be lying if I said I wasn\u2019t nervous for the encounter. Here I was gearing up to travel and speak with gay Republicans who have deep conservative values and are riding the MAGA wave.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Presumptions aside, this is what I discovered: Joe and the vast majority of gay Republicans I spoke with are decent people. Our conversations were mostly civil and I enjoyed the coffees, phone calls, and strolls around town. But the inconvenient truth is that they are not the champions of LGBTQ change some democrats and progressives, myself included, want them to be.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Gay Republicans\u2019 mutual sentiment is that a threat to gay rights somewhere is not a threat to gay rights everywhere. This logic occurs because gay Republicans are unable to agree with gay Democrats on what in fact is a threat to gay rights and what isn\u2019t.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A point of tension in all of my interactions was Florida\u2019s Parental Rights in Education bill, also known as the Don’t Say Gay bill. \u201cIt’s totally being misconstrued,\u201d Todd Novak told me.\u00a0 \u201cIt says don’t talk about sexuality to kids between the grades K through third grade. I mean, it’s not about gays.\u201d But critics say it is about gays, noting the bill\u2019s vague language that leaves room for interpretation. Can a gay teacher leave photos on their desk of their significant other? Can a child with same-sex parents talk about his family\u2019s orientation? The answer: it\u2019s unclear.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The truth of the matter is that Joe, Todd, and Joshua are living in a, largely, post-homophobic country, benefitting from decades of work and activism by gay liberals and democrats. Gay Republicans may be enigmas, but their politics do not discount their gayness. It seems to, however, discount their role in the future of gay rights.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Part I – Dean of the Gay Legislature A year before election day in 2015, Todd Novak\u2019s phone rang. It was Mark Pocan, a Congressman from Wisconsin’s 2nd district. Pocan asked Novak if he\u2019d consider running for an open seat in the 51st assembly district, which is located in southwest Wisconsin, just west of Madison. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":98,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-25","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-all","8":"entry"},"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThey\u2019re Here, They\u2019re Queer, They\u2019re\u2026 Republican? - Shoeleather Magazine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/shoeleathermagazine.com\/2022\/theyre-here-theyre-queer-theyre-republican\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"They\u2019re Here, They\u2019re Queer, They\u2019re\u2026 Republican? - Shoeleather Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Part I – Dean of the Gay Legislature A year before election day in 2015, Todd Novak\u2019s phone rang. 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