We can talk about advocacy all day long. To be fair, you will see more of that in this blog as the year goes on—although interspersed with occasional moments of just plain life and architecture. I do have a family, a firm, and friends willing to spill the tea whenever it is appropriate. Or inappropriate. You pick.
However, at some point, architects must realize that talking will only get us so far. Having those discussions with your colleagues is great. No knocking reaching out to one another for support and ideas on what to do. Since the election last year, I have seen a lot of that happening, even with friends who aren’t architects. But at some point, the rubber has to meet the road.
For me, that was 2017. No idea why—although probably coming more into my own as a gay man after 25 years had something to do with it—but the timing felt right. I was tired of hearing about diversity but not seeing that reach the queer community. I wasn’t beholden to business partners in case there were repercussions. Plus, if not now, then when?
Consequently, The Intersection of Queer and Architecture started going out during calls for submissions from various architecture conferences. Toss in a queer architect in Virginia who insisted the session be included in their annual conference, and suddenly I was publicly speaking about what being queer in architecture looked like—and pointing out for the first time that I wasn’t the only queer architect.
At the same time, The Big Gay Architect blog was in its infancy. A place where I could talk about being gay, being an architect, and finding a balance between the two. Someone had to poke the bear. As a profession, architecture couldn’t go on pretending queer architects weren’t part of our past, present, and future. This was a chance for me to put a public face on being the invisible part of the profession.
But now that we’re here (and queer), what’s next? What do we want to achieve? What goals do we need to set for ourselves so we aren’t squashed by groups and individuals threatening those who see the value in diversity? What do we see as possible for ourselves as well as the queer architecture community as a whole?
First, never give up on pushing for visibility. Within the industry and within architecture organizations at every level, we’ve started coming together, becoming beacons for people who haven’t seen themselves within architecture. That sounds prideful, perhaps. However, I’ve also spoken with people who have had that moment—when they’ve realized there is someone like them. That they aren’t the only one.
Second, do not hesitate to call out firms that are giving a passing glance at equity, diversity, and inclusion. Saying you practice EDI is an easy box to check. But if you’re promoting that as part of your culture, you have to live up to supporting a staff that reflects that ethos. Firms cannot rainbow-wash because it’s convenient. Push leadership to put up or shut up. Or maybe find another firm that practices what they preach.
Third, create and maintain connections with other queer architects and designers. These will be the people you turn to when you have a problem at work, when you get overwhelmed with everything that’s happening (especially now), and when you simply need support in your career. Not all problems are queer-related, and at times, being a sounding board about navigating the profession is just what someone needs.
Setting these goals is easy for me, I know. I’ve been doing this much longer than most. However, for the queer community to avoid being steamrolled, we need to be prepared. Having clear goals as queer architects will prove vital as we move forward and as we contribute to the overall conversation around queer rights.
