As an activist, I’ve spent over two decades working on issues that are close to my heart—particularly LGBTQ rights, gender equality, and racial justice. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that the most powerful movements for change often begin with personal stories. Our identities—shaped by where we come from, who we are, and the struggles we face—are crucial to understanding the impact of our activism. They shape how we approach social justice, what we advocate for, and how we connect with others. In this post, I want to reflect on how my own journey as a queer, Arab woman informs my work, and how storytelling becomes a powerful tool for creating lasting change.
My Personal Journey in Advocacy
Growing up as a Marine brat, I moved around a lot, but no matter where we lived, I always felt like I didn’t quite belong. As a teenager, my parents kicked me out when they discovered I was gay, and the feeling of being an outsider was something I would carry with me for many years. It was this personal experience of rejection that first fueled my passion for activism. I knew that I couldn’t stand by and watch others experience the same kind of isolation and discrimination I had faced.
From that point on, my activism became intertwined with my identity. My work in LGBTQ advocacy, particularly as one of the first LGBTQ liaisons to a city government, was never just about political change. It was personal. Every policy I worked to implement, every campaign I participated in, was informed by my own experience as someone who didn’t have a voice growing up. It was about ensuring that future generations—whether LGBTQ, women, or people of color—didn’t feel invisible or rejected the way I had.
The Power of Storytelling in Advocacy
Storytelling has been a cornerstone of my advocacy. I’ve seen firsthand how personal narratives can humanize issues that otherwise seem distant or abstract. When I worked on the campaign to stop the discriminatory amendments in Ohio, we didn’t just rely on data and statistics to argue our case. We brought in real stories from real people—stories of families, young people, and LGBTQ individuals who had experienced the pain and consequences of discriminatory laws.
These stories were powerful because they made the issue personal. They reminded people that LGBTQ rights were not just political talking points, but about the very real lives of their neighbors, friends, and family. When people can see themselves in someone else’s experience, the issue ceases to be “us versus them.” It becomes “us together.”
That’s why storytelling is so essential in activism. It connects people, builds empathy, and challenges perceptions. It also motivates action. When we share our stories—whether about our identities, our struggles, or our triumphs—we invite others into our world. In doing so, we break down barriers, create understanding, and open up a dialogue that can lead to real change.
Intersectionality: The Complexity of Identity
The concept of intersectionality has been crucial in shaping my approach to activism. As a queer, Arab woman, my experience of oppression is shaped not just by my sexuality, but also by my race and gender. I am constantly navigating multiple identities and the different layers of privilege and marginalization that come with each of them. This intersectionality has made me more aware of the complexities of social justice work.
In many ways, it’s easy for movements to become siloed. LGBTQ rights, women’s rights, and racial justice can sometimes feel like separate issues, but in reality, they are all interconnected. A Black trans woman faces different challenges than a white, cisgender woman, and an immigrant LGBTQ individual may experience discrimination in ways that someone who was born in the U.S. does not.
Understanding intersectionality allows us to better advocate for change. It reminds us that solutions to social problems can’t be one-size-fits-all. Instead, we need to be inclusive in our approach, ensuring that no one is left behind. By embracing intersectionality, we can build movements that are not only powerful but also equitable, recognizing the unique struggles of each community while fighting for the rights of all.
How My Identity Shapes My Activism
My own experiences as a queer, Arab woman have influenced every aspect of my activism. For example, my work on the Colorado Open To All campaign, which mobilized businesses to support LGBTQ rights, was not just about policy but about changing hearts and minds. As a person of color, I understood the power of diverse communities coming together for a common cause. I also understood the barriers that communities of color often face when it comes to LGBTQ advocacy.
While I was proud to work on campaigns that fought for marriage equality and protections against discrimination, I knew there was still much to be done. For instance, many of my first-generation or Arab friends faced unique challenges that weren’t always addressed in mainstream LGBTQ advocacy. In my advocacy work, I made sure to amplify these voices, ensuring that the needs of all communities—especially those on the margins—were part of the conversation.
It’s clear to me that personal identity isn’t just an aspect of activism—it’s often the driving force behind it. Our experiences shape our perspectives, and those perspectives are what fuel the change we want to see in the world.
Embracing Our Identities for Change
Activism is not a one-size-fits-all endeavor. It’s a deeply personal journey that is shaped by our individual experiences. Our identities—whether as LGBTQ people, women, people of color, or any combination thereof—are integral to understanding the problems we seek to solve and the solutions we advocate for.
Storytelling, particularly through the lens of our personal experiences, is a tool that allows us to connect, empathize, and drive meaningful change. By embracing our own identities and using our stories, we can create a more inclusive, compassionate, and just world. For me, activism is not just about changing laws; it’s about changing hearts—and that begins with sharing who we are, and why the fight for justice is so deeply personal.