Stanford Politics

I

will never forget the anxiety of middle school gym class. 

As a tall, scrawny, unathletic gay 12-year-old in Birmingham, Alabama, it was my worst nightmare. I could not do a pushup. I could not shoot a ball into the basket. I could not peg someone across the gym in dodgeball. I could squeeze out two or three chin-ups in our annual fitness assessment (which, might I add, we were required to complete in front of a bleacher-full of unforgiving classmates). I could run a respectable mile time. But that was about it. 

I hated sports. I was usually envious of whatever activity the girls’ gym class was partaking in, and typically kept to myself once the group split by gender. I was not treated worse than my male classmates, per se, but I was certainly not celebrated. I watched carefully as gym class provided the ideal showcase for those who commanded the lion’s share of middle-school-boy social capital in the South: those who were fast, strong, tough, and competitive.

Fortunately for me, I have always been the last of those things. 10 years later, I am now more secure in my own abilities (and, for whatever it’s worth, can do a push-up). I spent my late high school career as the president of a global non-profit; I am preparing to graduate from a prestigious university in June; I have developed a professional resume which I am proud of, and have signed a post-undergraduate job offer in New York City. 

In sum, I’m a white gay man with a conservative state upbringing and resume dotted with prestigious institutions and corporate labels. If this sounds familiar, former presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg may come to mind. 

Mayor Pete caught a lot of flack for his resume. But why? He is decorated with accolades which are usually celebrated, if not sought after, in those who seek to lead our nation: the military, Harvard, Rhodes, and McKinsey, to name the highlights. For some, these represent elite institutional forces in our society which reward loyalty to a system which serves the wealthy and perpetuates inequality. For some, they spark suspicions of a sinister quest for power by an ambitious young midwesterner.

These critiques hold water, too. There are deep flaws with each institution listed above. There are systemic flaws in our nation which permit them to sustain power and influence. While I hesitate to indulge the notion that Mayor Pete has meticulously plotted to become POTUS since his late adolescence, his choices along the way certainly do speak to his personality and values, for better or for worse. However, I see something other than a relentless overachiever looking to climb the ladder of American society. 

I see the need for achivement in a gay man who is told by society that he is not much of a man at all. I see the craving for academic validation to compensate for the masculine legitimacy which doesn’t come cheap to a kid in Indiana who doesn’t play football. I see institutions and occupations prestigious enough to effectively shield a gay man from the worst assumptions and derisions society can give him. I see a lot of myself.

A mere four years after the federal legalization of same-sex marriage, an openly gay man won the 2020 Iowa Caucuses and came within striking distance of the Democratic Party nomination for president of the United States. Rigorous criticism of Pete’s past work and experience is fair game, as it should be for any serious contender for our nation’s highest office. We are remiss, however, to ignore his identity in doing so. 

As gay men, our status is our armor and our equalizer. Made to feel at a deficit, we are led to make it up by wielding the prestige of schools and jobs which demand the respect of the then-boys who hit us with dodgeballs in middle school gym class. We co-opt the legitimacy of these institutions, and force it onto ourselves in order to succeed as gay in a world built for straight. Pete’s candidacy is emblematic of and deadly to this phenomenon all the same; while it symbolizes Pete’s regimented path to success, it validates queer kids in every corner of this nation who fear that they themselves are not enough. Pete earned his status with institutions and titles. Maybe the next generation of gay boys from South Bend, Indiana won’t have to.

Pete may indeed be the imperfect vessel with which to crack the glass ceiling of LGBTQ+ leadership in the United States. Next time you evaluate his choices of school and career, however, remember the ways those choices impact the legitimacy we now give him as a man and a leader. Acknowledge the different standards we apply for LGBTQ+ people of all identities across this country. A crack from an imperfect vessel is a crack nonetheless.

A week before the end of his candidacy, a 9-year-old boy named Zachary asked Pete to help him come out as gay on-stage at a town hall event in Denver. “I want to be brave like you,” he said. Pete responded with some warm counsel for Zachary, saying, “It won’t always be easy. But that’s okay, because you know who you are.”

All around this country, gay boys in middle school gym class need to hear those words. I certainly did. Thanks to Mayor Pete, maybe now they will. I want to be brave like him, too.

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Rip Livingston, a senior, is the Chief Financial Officer of Stanford Politics.