I should’ve felt relieved. It was the day after the midterms, and the giant “red wave” predicted by the pundits never materialized. The nationwide rejection of Trump-aligned candidates seemed to signal better days ahead for progressives like myself. In New York, where I currently live, incumbent Democratic Gov. Kathy Hochul fended off an unlikely threat from Republican challenger Lee Zeldin.
However, in my birthplace of North Carolina, where my entire family still lives, sanity proved a less salient selling point. In the Senate race, Trump-endorsed candidate Ted Budd sailed to an easy victory over Cheri Beasley, the first Black woman to serve as chief justice of the North Carolina Supreme Court. In the southwestern district where my Mom lives, the Republican state Sen. Chuck Edwards beat Jasmine Beach Ferrara, a Harvard-educated lesbian minister from the liberal haven of Asheville, in a race for Madison Cawthorn’s former congressional seat.
The results were bleak in the state races, too. Republicans swept the majority of them, capturing nearly a supermajority in the General Assembly. Democratic Gov. Roy Cooper’s veto power, which he used a record number of times during his first term, now hangs by a thread. The margin is so thin, GOP House Speaker Tim Moore said he believes Republicans can recruit the single Democrat necessary to overcome Cooper’s veto and pass priority legislation like the Parents’ Bill of Rights as soon as the next session starts in January. The anti-LGBTQ legislation, essentially a copy-cat of Florida’s so-called Don't Say Gay bill, passed the North Carolina Senate back in June.
My homesick heart ached as I watched the results roll in. The truth is, I’ve regularly thought about moving back to North Carolina ever since I moved away almost two decades ago. At first, the call to come home was easy to ignore. The roar of the gay bars in the queer-friendly cities where I spent my twenties drowned it out. But in my 30s now, I’m rapidly approaching that phase in life when it’d actually be nice to be around family (among other reasons: child care is expensive, and Mom said if I have a baby, she will watch it for free). Speaking of my Mom, she’s getting older. I don’t want to waste the time we have left together standing in line at airport security. All of my nieces and nephews are in North Carolina too, and they are hilarious. More importantly, they think I’m hilarious. I would love to experience more than twice a year the enormous mood boost I get from spending time with those adorable goons.
But I won’t be moving back to North Carolina any time soon, though I miss it more than ever. The difference between the level of support and benefits the LGBTQ community gets in New York vs. what my home state chooses to offer is too profound to ignore. For instance, North Carolina has no state-level protections against LGBTQ discrimination, which means that a bank can deny someone (me) a mortgage simply because they are queer (depending on zip code; in the absence of a state law, some cities have local non-discrimination ordinances). The state has also yet to extend its hate crime laws to include violence committed against the LGBTQ community. A bill that seeks to right this wrong has languished in the General Assembly since 2018.
I’d foolishly hoped the midterm elections might improve the situation. Instead, it seems poised to get worse. The state’s liberal bubbles like Asheville and Durham, where many queer people live, will remain just that—bubbles. A friend in Durham reminded me the other day that it only takes a trip to a gas station on the outskirts of town to remember you aren’t welcome in your own state. Yet this friend has decided to stay put, because they have a stable job they enjoy and a supportive community that provides safety and security where the state does not. I’m glad it works for them. The South needs as many fighters as it can get. But it isn’t enough for me.
Community is wonderful, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized just how important certain rights and protections are, especially as it relates to family. The other day I asked an older queer friend who lives in rural Georgia what it was like trying to establish parental rights for her child down there. She likened the process to acrobatics. She admitted that for people without the time or resources to jump through an endless number of hoops, it’s much more pragmatic simply to leave. You don’t have to tell me twice.
There aren’t nearly as many hoops to jump through in New York, thanks to the passage of the Child Parent Security Act in 2021. The law makes it relatively easy for queer parents to establish legal rights. Importantly, the law legalizes gestational surrogacy and eliminates the need for non-gestational partner(s) to adopt their own child, saving queer couples thousands of dollars in legal fees. According to the Movement Advancement Project, North Carolina has no comparable law on the books. Nor is there a law like the limited one recently passed in New York that requires private insurers to pony up for certain LGBTQ fertility treatments. I never thought it’d be cheaper to do something in New York than in North Carolina. Turns out, getting knocked up is.
My decision to stay away from North Carolina mirrors a worrying national trend. According to a recent report in NPR, the country’s growing political polarization is taking on a geographical dimension. Liberals and conservatives are clustering together in states that, by and large, reflect their politics. These migration patterns are in turn causing stalemates at the federal level. Although partisan gridlock is one serious consequence, it’s not what worries me about the long-term impact of living in a secluded, liberal state. I’m used to a feckless and ineffective Congress. What I really don’t want is to be compelled to live in a reality apart from my mom and siblings. In 10 years, will I even recognize my home state?
I don’t want to have to abandon my family of origin in order to expand my queer one—yet that’s exactly what North Carolina’s politicians have imposed upon LGBTQ North Carolinians. It’s one thing to choose to leave your home; it’s quite another to feel forced out. So as much as I love my home state, I’ll be going to Carolina only in my mind.
Abigail Covington is a journalist and cultural critic based in Brooklyn, New York but originally from North Carolina, whose work has appeared in Slate, The Nation, Oxford American, and Pitchfork
