Some years ago, I participated in a project sponsored by the Portland Art Museum, creating an intergenerational LGBTQ+ exhibit. One aspect of the exhibit paired people from different generations, allowing an opportunity for questions and answers in both directions.

I was paired with a 17-year-old non-binary high school student. I was gifted with the opportunity to learn what it was like to live a non-binary identity in high school. And they said to me, “I’m so glad I get to ask you questions, I don’t know anything about the history of this community I’m part of!”

This comment struck me, as it occurred to me, “How could you? How much LGBTQ+ history is taught in any high school?” Upon further inquiry, it turned out they had read a one-paragraph summary of the Stonewall riots at some point. They knew there had been an AIDS epidemic. That was it.

We had a wonderful several-hour conversation as I caught them up on some community history based in my own personal experience; in turn, I learned a lot about navigating high school while living in authenticity with a queer identity.

If we don’t transmit our own community history, it will be lost to history. I have participated in several interviews for Queer archives. I talk about intergenerational communication in presentations. I take advantage of random opportunities to have deep conversations intergenerationally with folks I meet, learning from them as they learn from me.

If we are accurately informed about the past, we will have a better sense of where we came from, and more respect for the elders who helped us get where we are today. And we can avoid rewriting our own history. As an example, I recently heard a young non-binary person refer to the term ‘FTM’ (female-to-male) as a binary slur intended to demean those who transition away from a female birth assignment. In fact, this was a term that came of age when I transitioned in the mid-1990s, one of the first community-created terms to replace ‘transsexual.’ It was a first attempt at trans people taking over our own terminology, not allowing others to define who we were. We felt empowered by the term FTM. I was quite taken aback to hear it described as a slur.

Our communities build and thrive and grow because of the efforts of previous generations. And this includes my own generation. I came out as a lesbian at 19, in 1974. It didn’t occur to me at the time that the blossoming community development of my generation was built on the efforts of a World War II generation that began taking very cautious steps out of the closet. I now wish I’d had an opportunity to talk with someone from that generation as I was coming out.

We all of us come into the middle of history. There’s no such thing as the beginning or the end. We move forward from what has come before, and others come after us to carry on. Respect and story-telling across generations can help our communities be more united in our support of each other, especially in these times of conservative backlash against who we are.