Yes, And: Making Solidarity Mean Something For Queer Employees

By: Martin Agency Talent Experience + Belonging Manager, Abu Ngauja

Life is a series of yeses and noes, like a binary code. Yes, you can do this. No, you can’t do that. And you let each one shape you, carve out a curve of your being until every inch of you is all the yeses and noes of life.

I am the son of two African immigrants.

Noes come early:

• “No, you can’t watch TV. Study.”
• “No, you can’t have McDonald’s. Study.”
• “No, you can’t have a sleepover here. Go clean something. Or study.”

Those noes were rooted in love. An insular, well-meaning sort of love. Outside my home walls, though, some noes weren’t:

• “No, you will not be loved the way you want.”
• “No, you will not be safe here.”
• “No, you don’t belong.”

And then there are the noes I told myself:

• “No, I can’t be gay.”
• “No, this isn’t forever. It’s a phase.”

Seeking Out Yeses

As a reluctant-to-be-gay man growing up, I looked for yeses in people and things, in film, art or media. Something to affirm for me that I was good. I didn’t like the yeses I found. They were all rooted in pain. I still hold on to all of the movies and TV shows that only portrayed gay men as drug addicts, victims of hate crimes or victims of AIDS. It’s isolating knowing the world only sees you one way, and that that way isn’t centered in joy. It’s a strange burden knowing that every day you have to make a sacrifice: potentially losing loved ones for being who you are, or losing your dignity. You can easily choose your dignity every time.

I sought yeses out in places, too, in buildings and dwellings and spaces that paraded as “open”—supposedly welcoming of people who identify as LGBQ+/T. I poured myself into my work, places that felt like “yes” and instead were places of “yes, but.” Yes, you can work here, but no, you don’t belong here. Not really.

That “but” would manifest silently, almost imperceptibly—in a look, in a comment on my outfit, in an old coworker feeling the need to mention his heterosexuality, or his girlfriend, or his wife, when I was in a room. Please, I’d think to myself. You ain’t it and whatever it is, I don’t want it.

I felt I couldn’t be alone in this journey for yeses. There was a moment once where I asked a colleague of mine at The Martin Agency, Devin Pearson (talent and culture project manager and employee lead of our newly-formed LGBQ+/T employee affinity group, PRISM), about his own experience. He shared:

“You’re definitely not alone. Throughout my career, I’ve often felt like a misplaced puzzle piece. Whether I was trying too hard to fit in or trying too hard to stand out, like many members of the LGBQ+/T community, I felt bullied into silence, exhausting myself in an effort to conform.”

I felt that exhaustion deeply.

Finding Yeses Within

It takes a long time for many of us in the queer community to realize that we can start saying yes to ourselves, as we are. “Yes, you are queer.” The first time I said it, it was hollow. Empty. Missing something. So, I tried again. I said: “Yes. You are queer. Andthat’s okay.” I gave it a qualifier, and it bloomed with color. I said it for myself until I believed it. That’s where my story changed, and where the story can change for many of us in the community. Say yes to yourself, first, and then go looking for a place that will say it back, because you deserve that place.

When I first came to The Martin Agency, it didn’t really say much at all. It was saying yes to a lot of other things, a lot of important things—like gender equity, racial representation and fighting invisibility. But the fight had not reached my LGBQ+/T community yet, who, in the state of Virginia, wasn’t afforded any protections from discrimination until July of this year.

So, I found myself saying yes to myself, again: “Yes—I will bring the fight to us.”

Surprisingly, Martin said: “Hell yes” right back.

Martin said: “Hell yes, and.”

“And we will fight with you. And we will do the work to open our eyes and see you. And, however many noes you’ve heard in life, we commit to being a place that will say yes to you.”

Yeses do not need to start large. At the beginning, they don’t even need to be actions. If you’re a company, start with questioning yourself. What is your track record with the LGBQ+/T community? Have you supported in the past, do you authentically represent them in your work, do you create intentional recruiting strategies to welcome them? Acknowledging your silence and questioning its root will oftentimes reveal the yeses you should commit to first, and when.

At Martin, there were small but mighty yeses:

• Adding pronouns to email signatures—which some of our people, including leadership, have adopted
• Creating space for two local drag performers, Chicki Parm and Amber St. Lexington, to educate us on Richmond’s drag history and their approaches to drag
• Holding vulnerable conversations about the queer PoC experience after a screening of the documentary “Paris Is Burning”

And there were monumental yeses:

• Becoming first ever sponsors of events like Richmond’s LGBTQ+ Chamber of Commerce Career Fair and Virginia Pridefest, and volunteering with our people, including our CEO, Chief Culture Officer and Executive Creative Director
• Becoming an inaugural signatory of the Equality Virginia “Virginia Competes” pledge—in a state that only recently began offering limited protections against discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. What this means is that beyond committing, The Martin Agency is a place where LGBQ+/T employees can be sure that they belong, and that they will be treated equitably.

I am proud of all these yeses, and what resulted from them. Each of these actions even being taken illustrates a bigger truth: Saying yes to your LGBQ+/T employees is a start, and an important one; it’s also the bare minimum.

Be the place that says yes, and:

• “Yes, you can work here. And you will thrive.”
• “Yes, you can work here. And we will protect you.”
• “Yes, you can work here. And you belong.”

If you’re queer and reading this—and relate to any part of this story—I hope you’re saying yes, andto you. If not, start right now. Yes, you’re queer. And that’s okay. And that’s beautiful. And that’s on period.

And Devin?

“I have found my fit within this community and feel inspired to be my most authentic self. I no longer feel the need to pander. Not anymore.”