The Resistance Brief: This week in the fight for justice

Radical Joy

Blog by Ricardo Martinez (he/him), Executive Director

On Monday, I spent my first Patriots’ Day – a holiday in Massachusetts and a few other states marking the start of the American Revolution – moderating a conversation with author Nico Lang about his new book, American Teenager, in Manchester, New Hampshire. The book features stories of transgender adolescents across the country and how they are “surviving hate and finding joy in a turbulent era.”

The event was hosted at the Bookery, an independent bookstore and “hub for local art, political discussion, and community events.” Upon arriving, I noticed two protestors with signs hanging around their necks. The unkind, mean-spirited messages they carried were meant to invalidate the existence of trans people and intimidate attendees. I’m no stranger to protesters showing up at LGBTQ+ spaces – Pride events, advocacy rallies, community meetups. But this was the first time I can recall feeling a profound sadness for them.

I imagined them scrolling through the internet, searching for just the right inflammatory image and slogan for their signs. The money they spent printing them. The effort it took to travel to the Bookery with the sole intention of intimidating and invalidating people.

Inside the Bookery, the vibe was completely different. Smiling faces greeted us upon arrival. The well-lit space gave the illusion of a sunny day. Attendees patiently waited for the conversation to begin, seated near the floor-to-ceiling windows that barely separated us from the protestors outside. Very little was said about them. People were there to connect, to be in community.

During the conversation with Nico, I asked about a passage in the book that described moments of joy as “coasting on bliss,” and what that meant to them. They explained that the phrase refers to those fleeting moments of joy we create – despite the stress and agony that may surround us – that we don’t want to end. Looking back, it felt like an important question to ask given the vitriolic signs attendees had to confront upon entry.

And there is no shortage of animosity and hostility – what lawyers and the courts refer to as animus – around us right now. Whether it’s the federal government issuing executive orders seemingly designed to harm a particular group, lawmakers introducing bills that deliberately and systematically push marginalized people further into the margins, or emboldened vigilantes showing up to LGBTQ+ affirming spaces – we are experiencing a dangerous void of empathy and compassion.

Maybe this is why the presence of the protestors left such an impression. They were the personification of the erosion of the golden rule.

So much of what we’re fighting for is the basic human right to be treated with dignity and respect. When people show up to a book talk just to broadcast their hostility – or the government adopts policies born out of animus – it stands in stark contrast to the unalienable right we all deserve: the right to pursue happiness.

And yet, at a time when kindness and sympathy can be hard to find – when people grow so despondent they abandon hope – we must endure. This is where queer joy becomes essential – as a form of resistance. Navigating and overcoming hardship can only happen when fueled by something of the heart – something joyful.

Queer joy is subversive. It is resistance in the form of authenticity – an affront to societal demands to shrink, to hide, to conform. It stands boldly against the discrimination and hostility facing our community.

Joy, in this context, isn’t frivolous or naive. It’s radical. It’s intentional. It’s a refusal to be consumed by the wave of hatred from this administration that we have been faced with. Where there is joy, there is life – and where there is life, there is resistance.

On Monday at the Bookery, the protestors’ signs stayed outside, but our joy stayed with us. We talked, we laughed, we connected. The kids in Nico’s book aren’t just surviving – they’re building futures, finding friends, and laughing in the face of cruelty. That’s the story the protestors can’t touch. That’s the spark laws and executive orders can’t extinguish.

Because animus can’t fill a heart with love, but joy can.

So make space for your own moments of joy – on the dance floor, in the pages of a book, rewatching your favorite movie, or gathering together in community. Let those moments recharge you and remind you why we continue to fight.

What to know, what to do: 

Donate Today

Read more editions of the Resistance Brief.