Efforts to move children's and young adult books with LGBTQ content to the adult section of a Northeast Arkansas public library have some local residents concerned about censorship.

At the Jonesboro Public Library, the latest book in a monthslong battle over children's books mentioning sexuality and other themes is "All Boys Aren't Blue," a young adult memoir by George M. Johnson which follows his journey growing up gay and Black.

Valerie Carroll, former library employee, organizer with Citizens Defending the Craighead County Library and a parent, thinks having such stories accessible while young people explore their own identities is crucial.

"When it comes to the library and Arkansas, LGBTQ youth in this area know that the community and the culture is, in a lot of ways, actively hostile to them," Carroll pointed out. "I think it's hugely important that there is some place where a teenager can go to see themselves. And if that place is the library, that's a beautiful thing."

The Jonesboro Library board voted three-to-two against a proposal to move the book to the adult section. "All Boys Aren't Blue" has been removed from libraries in several states, where its critics have argued the subject matter is too explicit, and parents should be the ones to decide if it's appropriate reading for their kids.

Vanessa Adams, director of the Jonesboro Public Library, said she doesn't think the issue will end with the vote to defeat the proposal. She predicts it will likely come up again at next month's board meeting.

"Moving the books is actually a form of censorship," Adams asserted. "And the reason that we hesitate to do that is because that's just the beginning. It's a slippery slope, and we don't know where it would end up. And so, that's what concerns librarians."

Adams said the library hopes to reach a compromise, with plans already in the works to create a focus group to discuss options. She hopes the issue can be resolved in the coming months when the library returns to in-person programming as COVID cases wane.

An Arizona LGBTQ+ group has established a partnership with Waymo, the autonomous-driving tech company, to provide what it said will be a safer transportation option.

Angela Hughey, president of the group One Community, said through the partnership, Waymo is providing what she described as "acceptability through innovation."

Hughey explained a person never truly knows what experience awaits them when they hail a traditional ride-share service, and it comes with a sense of vulnerability. She stressed Waymo and One Community have gone the extra mile to eliminate the worry.

"What I really think is so cool about Waymo and the innovation of autonomous driving, is that Waymo doesn't discriminate, right?" Hughey pointed out. "It is about providing safety and an assuredness to every passenger that gets into the car."

Hughey called it a valuable and necessary innovation. A Gender Policy Report from the University of Minnesota found one in four members of the LGBTQ+ community is concerned about safety on public transportation. Waymo currently provides service in the metro Phoenix area, downtown Phoenix and Sky Harbor International Airport.

Hughey added Waymo is just one of 3,500 businesses to have signed One Community's Unity Pledge, which turns 10 years old next month. It is a pledge to advance workplace equality, equal treatment in housing and public accommodations for LGBTQ+ individuals and their allies.

"One of the first things that Waymo did when we started our partnership, is that they signed the Unity Pledge," Hughey noted. "So, that was actionable. They are absolutely supportive of LGBTQ inclusivity in this great state and nation, and taking the United Pledge was very demonstrative on their part."

Hughey added feeling safe and welcome in ride-sharing services is something which should matter to all Arizonans.

Two Republican Arizona state senators have kicked off the new legislative session wanting to limit and restrict drag shows.

State Sen. Anthony Kern, R-Glendale, filed two separate bills: one banning drag shows during certain hours - targeted primarily at eliminating drag brunches - and the other would prohibit drag performances from occurring on public property or any location where a minor could see the show.

State Sen. John Kavanagh's - R-Fountain Hills - bill bans the use of state funds for drag shows targeting minors.

Staff Attorney with Lambda Legal Kell Olson said drag performances are important because they communicate a message of diversity, inclusivity and celebration.

"They show people they are not alone," said Olson. "There are very important purposes for drag shows. These laws do not do what legislators should be doing if they really are concerned about certain content that is inappropriate, they should be focused on that."

For Olson, these bills are what he calls "the latest chapter in a series of laws attempting to shame and demonize LGBTQ-plus people."

Olson said he does expect pushback, but the bills may advance as Republicans hold majorities in the Arizona Senate and House. However, newly elected Democratic Gov. Katie Hobbs would be likely to veto the bills.

The senate sponsors have said drag shows' sexually explicit nature is concerning, especially for minors.

Olson said one of the biggest issues he sees with the bills is the aim to define what drag is.

He said the broad definitions present in the legislation could target many transgender and non-conforming individuals executing a performance of any type which he says presents a practical problem.

Olson said legal complications could also follow since the laws seek to suppress ideals of the First Amendment and free expression.

"The fact that these laws have a lot of problems that they trigger because they seek to suppress people's performance and expression based on a particular viewpoint," said Olson. "That is the kind of thing our Constitution doesn't stand for."

Olson said Kavanagh's bill not only targets state funds for the use of drag shows, but also targets funding for any entity that has or operates a drag show.

He said this means a possible youth center that allows drag performances, but receives state funding, could also be cut off.

By Bennet Goldstein for Wisconsin Watch.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Wisconsin News Connection reporting for the Wisconsin Watch-Public News Service Collaboration

Shannon and Eve Mingalone avow that their farmers market booth is "very gay."

They hang strings of pride flags and sell rainbow stickers to help pay for gender-affirming care, like hormone replacement therapy, for Eve.

Sometimes, when parents and their teenagers pass the booth, the adults glance, then speed ahead. The kids pause for a second look. Shannon, 34, hopes it means something for them to see LGBTQ professionals out and succeeding.

People often share stories. The middle-aged woman who confided that her daughter is transgender. The teen who stood in the middle of the Mingalones' booth and said, "This makes me feel safe."

"That means everything to me," Shannon said.

Now in their second season, she and Eve, 35, grow more than 45 varieties of vegetables at their business, Ramshackle Farm, in Harvard, Illinois.

Lettuces and Asian greens emerge on stacks of hydroponic troughs and spinach in a warm hoop house. Outside, Shannon and Eve tend to arugula, broccoli, peas and radishes using intensive planting and heavy rotation techniques - never pesticides or synthetic fertilizer.

Their operation is an exception to the sprawling corn and bean fields that dominate the landscape. Shannon and Eve work to feed people, not livestock or cars.

Shannon wears her politics on her coveralls. Her favorite jean jacket includes patches that declare "End monoculture" and "Save the earth. Bankrupt a corporation."

The Mingalones are among a multitude of LGBTQ farmers who draw connections between their identities and agriculture, including their adoption of sustainable practices.

"We're not just raising food," Shannon said. "We are creating safe spaces for people."

Like many, they used to have a specific image of a "typical farmer:" white, male, heterosexual, Christian and conservative. Excluded from that vision - or perhaps myth - is a space for them.

So they are creating one.

The presence of LGBTQ people in agriculture challenges stereotypes of who can, or should be, interested in farming. But the community is not a monolith, interviews with 16 Midwestern LGBTQ producers indicate. Some use restorative techniques in hopes of reducing environmental destruction and social inequity. Others run conventional operations, which industry representatives and policymakers say are key to feeding the world's growing population.

Nonetheless, as LGBTQ farmers navigate common hurdles, ranging from land inaccessibility to federal lending restrictions to social isolation, they rely on creativity and resilience to survive, much like they do in other arenas of their lives.

USDA doesn't count LGBTQ farmers

No definitive figures measure how many LGBTQ people farm in America. The U.S. Department of Agriculture asks respondents to identify their sex in its five-year censuses, not their sexual orientation or gender identity.

But the department is considering adding those questions to the 2027 Census of Agriculture. It conducted a pilot study in late 2021 to gauge whether their inclusion would affect response rates.

Responses decreased significantly when the questions were inserted, despite the survey's confidentiality. The study lacked possible explanations for the findings.

But when word of the survey reached U.S. Sen. Josh Hawley, R-Mo., he accused the USDA and President Joe Biden of advancing a "woke agenda." Hawley claimed in a tweet that a farmer sent him a copy of the document. The lawmaker questioned, facetiously, the relevance of "such important" questions to the farming profession.

The National Young Farmers Coalition likewise encountered pushback from outside of the LGBTQ community to a survey that included similar demographic questions.

But a failure to acquire demographic information about LGBTQ people prevents improvements to services, said Katie Dentzman, a rural sociology and public policy assistant professor at Iowa State University.

"If you're completely unaware that these people are out there, then their issues are completely being ignored," she said. "In a way, that is perpetuating violence in a system."

Dentzman jimmied a statistical workaround using the USDA's 2017 census, finding that 8,302 farms were overseen by men married to men and 3,550 by women married to women. That was about 1.2% of all dually run farms nationwide.

Dentzman found that many same-sex couples farmed conventionally. But same-sex married men were more likely to have organic land and grow products intended for human consumption than farms run by men married to women. Likewise, women married to women more often engaged in alternative farming practices like intensive grazing and the production of value-added products.

Might LGBTQ people's unique vantage draw them to sustainable farming?

It's possible, Dentzman said, but as other sociologists have proposed, the economic and social disadvantages queer people face also might funnel them into alternative agriculture. That is, they lack the expansive resources and capital necessary to farm conventionally.

Statistically, LGBTQ people experience higher rates of poverty and food insecurity compared to non-LGBTQ people. They also earn less dollar-for-dollar and disproportionately experience homelessness.

Then add the upfront costs of farming.

Land access remains a top obstacle to entering agriculture, and attempting to do so without the backing of family can be a Herculean task.

Fifty-nine percent of respondents to the 2022 National Young Farmer Survey said finding affordable farmland to purchase is very or extremely challenging, while 45% said the same of finding any farmland at all.

Meanwhile, the cost of cropland is rising nationwide.

Corbin Scholz, 27, operates Rainbow Roots, an organic farm "rooted in queerness" on 6 acres of rented land north of Iowa City, Iowa. She does not come from a farm family and works two other jobs to support herself.

Scholz's lease expires after the 2024 growing season and she doesn't know whether she will be able to renew.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to ever afford a farm," Scholz said, "and moving everything I've built to another one-to-five-year lease really limits my growth opportunity."

Bennet Goldstein wrote this article for Wisconsin Watch.


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