Seventeen Years Later: What Happened to Iowa's Promise?

Seventeen years ago, Iowa made history.

In 2009, the Varnum v. Brien decision affirmed that same-sex couples had the freedom to marry. It was unanimous. It was decisive. And it told the country something important about who we were.

Iowa chose courage.

At the time, that decision reflected a belief that fairness was not conditional. That dignity was not up for debate. That our laws should protect people, not target them.

Today, it is hard to reconcile that legacy with the reality many Iowans are living through.

None of this is organic, or accidental.

Over the past several years, lawmakers have passed or advanced policies that do the opposite of what Iowa once stood for. LGBTQ Iowans have been singled out in legislation, in classrooms, and in healthcare settings. Conversations have been restricted. Books have been removed. Care has been delayed or denied. And harmful practices like conversion therapy have been given new space under the banner of “freedom.”

None of this is organic, or accidental.

A growing amount of money and influence in our politics is coming from interests that are not rooted in our communities. These groups understand that LGBTQ issues can be used to divide people, mobilize voters, and consolidate power. They invest accordingly. And too many lawmakers have chosen to follow that lead rather than represent the people they were elected to serve.

When I talk to young LGBTQ artists and creatives here in central Iowa through community volunteering, I hear the same thing again and again. They are thinking about leaving. Not because they want to, but because they do not feel safe building a future here. They are looking for places where they can live openly, work freely, and exist without being treated as a political target. That should scare all of us.

When people who bring creativity, energy, and vision to our communities feel pushed out, we all lose. We lose culture. We lose economic vitality. We lose the very people who help make a place feel alive.

[Representation] forces lawmakers to look directly at the people their decisions affect and reckon with those consequences in real time.

As a Black gay man, I feel this shift personally.

The communities I exist in have been placed directly in the crosshairs of recent legislation. I am not speaking about this as an abstract policy debate. I am speaking about lived reality. About what it means to navigate systems that are becoming more hostile. About what it means to watch your state move away from a legacy that once made you proud.

That is part of why I am running for office.

Representation is not symbolic. It changes the conversation. It introduces accountability. It forces lawmakers to look directly at the people their decisions affect and reckon with those consequences in real time.

I want to serve in a legislature where no one can pretend these policies exist in a vacuum. Where the impact is visible. Where the people being targeted are not invisible.

Iowa has already shown us what it can be.

We have been a state that led with fairness. A state that trusted its values enough to act on them. A state that understood dignity is not something you ration out based on politics. We can be that again.

But it will not happen by accident. It will require people who are willing to stand up, to speak plainly, and to push back against the forces trying to pull us in the opposite direction.

I believe in an Iowa where families are safe. Where people are free to live their lives openly. Where dignity, security, and opportunity are not reserved for some, but guaranteed for all.

That is the Iowa worth fighting for.